That Summer
by TarnishedArmour
Summary: Sarah is down on her luck, in a place she never dreamed existed, and in need. Two women help her find a room & work . In a place she wasn't looking, Sarah finds more than she ever expected. Question is, can she keep it? ***Read Warnings; Rated M***
1. She Went to Work for Him that Summer

**THAT SUMMER**

**inspired by the song "That Summer" by Garth Brooks**

**Ch. 1 She Went to Work for Him that Summer**

**Disclaimer: **Neither the song "That Summer" nor the movie _Labyrinth_ are mine, and I make no money or other profit from my writing. Would I could and did, but I don't.

**Rating: M **for mature themes & sometimes explicit scenes including, but not limited to, death, drugs/alcohol, abuse, and sex. If you can't handle these things, leave now.

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**Two years after the labyrinth…**

Sarah stared at the casket as it sat waiting over the open grave. The bright red roses were obscenely cheerful on the dark wood. She felt Toby beside her, restless and unable to fully understand what was wrong, why his mother was crying and his sister was so empty.

Her father was gone. Poof. One minute he had been driving home, the next, he was gone. The accident had been unavoidable, they said. He went quickly, they said. He had no time to suffer, they said.

They never said how a seventeen-year-old girl was supposed to cope with making funeral arrangements when her stepmother collapsed. They never said how a sister was supposed to become a surrogate mother until his mother could function again. They never said how much it would hurt, seeing her father's dark hair and unnaturally pale skin against the satin.

They never said a lot of things, but when they did talk, it was useless noise.

The graveside service was over and Sarah still stared, still waited for her world to come crashing down. It had wobbled when her mother had died of medical complications overseas last year. It had shuddered and shaken when her father died only three days ago. Somehow, she knew her world hadn't fallen apart yet.

She couldn't help but wonder how much longer it would take before she was left in the ruins.

*****

**Three years after the labyrinth…**

"Get over here," Xavier Deirks hissed at his stepdaughter. Karen had remarried, and Sarah was having to deal with the fallout.

"No," Sarah said, her voice flat. "I am not going to let you hit me, and I'm not going to let you rape me, either."

"Fine, the boy can take what you have coming," Deirks hissed, turning to go to Toby's room.

Sarah stood there, shaking. She had a choice. She could let him beat the hell out of her, like he had twice before over something less trivial than applications to colleges, or she could let him touch her. He hadn't tried to have sex with her yet, but it was only a matter of time. The thought made her nauseous.

"Wait." Sarah's voice was cold, not betraying how much she wanted to throw up. Xavier was good to Toby, even to Karen. He didn't want Sarah around. The antipathy was mutual. "Toby isn't a part of this."

"No, he's not." Dierks looked pleased.

"Why do you care if I apply for colleges? It's too late for most schools anyway. I graduate in two months."

"I'm not going to pay the application fees, girl, and I'm sure as hell not going to pay tuition. You're not my child and you won't bargain to get what you want." He moved over to Sarah and lifted up her shirt. "You are, however, legal. Consider this rent for the month." Sarah felt the large, rough hands touch her belly and tried not to cringe. "You disobeyed me about the applications. You live off what I make. I figure I'm entitled to something back from you--other than chores and babysitting."

"You're living in the house my father bought, driving his car, eating his food, and fucking his widow. I owe you nothing." Anything to get him to stop touching her like that. Better he hate her than she have to feel his hands on her body.

Sarah didn't duck when the first blow came. She didn't try to get away when he ripped off his belt. She curled up in a little ball and bit her lip, her cheek, her shirt, her hand. She didn't scream when the tenth blow crossed her back. She just waited for it to end.

Two months. He'd kick her out in two months.

She had to hold on that long. She could do this. If she could deny her dreams and defeat the Goblin King, if she could endure her parents' deaths, if she could handle the darker times in the labyrinth between the fierys and the bog and Ludo, she could endure this. For two more months.

*****

Three days after graduation, standing at the train station, Sarah shook the hand of her father's partner.

"Thanks, Mr. Hughes. I don't think it'll be long before I can get my things out of your garage."

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart," the older man smiled gently. "My boys are grown and my wife and I were just rattling around in here. At least you have some pretty things that she can dust. Are you sure you won't stay here with us?"

"I can't. I don't know if I'll make it, but I have to try," Sarah said. She was heading for New York City and potential heartbreak. She had some money from her father's will. She could make it work, at least for a little while. It was time to pursue her dream of acting.

"Good luck, honey. I've got a feeling you'll need it." Mr. Hughes gave her a gentle hug and sent her one her way.

Sarah climbed aboard the Amtrak with her one suitcase and found a seat. Three hours and she would be in the big city.

*****

A year later, after finding nothing but heartbreak and bad propositions, Sarah had moved from New York to Chicago, then further west and to smaller and smaller cities. From small cities, she'd moved to towns, working in restaurants and pulling odd jobs, moving on when it became clear she wouldn't find anything permanent there. She'd managed to get to some little spot in Montana with her last few dollars, because it had been the only destination out of the northeast corner of South Dakota.

Tired, hungry, and dirty, Sarah stepped off the bus and waved to the driver. Her one suitcase had slowly become one backpack as most of her clothes and jewelry were destroyed or sold to pay for food and rent. She'd even had to call Mr. Hughes and tell him to sell off her furniture and clothes and costumes--the only things in storage with him now were some of her favourite old toys, and she couldn't take them with her or afford to have him send them to her. Even if he would pay the shipping, there was no guarantee she'd be in the same place when it all arrived. Her jewelry was down to one ring and a simple necklace her mother had bequeathed to her.

Sarah looked around the town. She wasn't sure it could be called a town. It was more like a glorified intersection with a few houses and stores. Right next to the bus stop, sharing the same space, was the post office. Experience had taught her that postmen know everything in small towns, and most of them liked to talk. Sarah walked over to the small building and walked in.

"Excuse me," Sarah asked the man in the post office, "do you know if anyone's hiring?"

The man looked her over and raised his eyebrows. "You in a fix, honey?"

"Something like that. I need to get a job--if only for the summer. Then I can move on."

"Might be something, but if there is, it won't be in town. Hang on a minute while I call Gracie." The man picked up his telephone and dialed a number. After a short conversation, he hung up and told Sarah, "Gracie's waitin' for you at the diner. Just go down this road two blocks and turn left. Can't miss it."

"Thanks," Sarah replied. When he grunted in response, she left and followed the instructions.

"You must be the girl Wyatt called about," an elderly woman said, smiling. "Looking for work, are you? Well, no matter. There's nothing in town, since it's almost summer. What work there is is out on the ranches."

"I guess I could do ranch work," Sarah replied. "I can ride."

"English or Western style?" Gracie asked.

"Western. I…wanted more between me and the horse than a little pad. And I was nervous enough I wanted something I could grab onto, if I needed to." Sarah laughed at herself, Gracie smiled. "I took lessons for three years, though. I kept riding after that until about two years ago."

"How long, total?"

"Seven years."

"Hmm. Well, I guess I'll give King a call, let him know he's got a potential hand," Gracie sighed. "If nothing else, you can cook and keep the house in order while he gets a full hand out there. Lord only knows how he eats since his pappy passed. Probably nothing but beans from cans and some meat."

Sarah let the woman keep talking as she walked to the telephone sitting by the register. She stood and looked over the black-and-white pictures on the walls, glad to be standing after the eternity she'd spent on that bus. It was early afternoon and she was tired from the overnight trip. With a bathroom of sorts on the bus, the driver had only stopped for fuel and to get food at a gas station. She hadn't had enough money to get anything, but water was free, so she'd drunk her fill. Only a few minutes later, Gracie returned.

"All right, he'll take you on. He's easy to get along with, so long as you're willing to learn and you listen. If you don't do what he says, you'll be out on your rump before you can say licketysplit. You got a kit?" she asked.

"No, ma'am, just what I'm wearing." Sarah had on worn jeans, loafers, a shirt with a vest, and a backpack. Her hair was back in a braid, but Gracie could tell it was long.

"We'll get you kitted up, then." Gracie cocked her head to the side, thinking about how much the little slip of a girl in front of her needed.

"I couldn't--" Sarah tried to object, thinking she could make-do with the clothes she had. It wasn't much, but they were her clothes and she knew they were still good.

"Oh, it won't be charity. King'll take it out of your first month's wages. Besides, those jeans may be good for city work and even ridin' for fun, but you'll wear 'em to rags working in the saddle. Shirt, too. We won't even talk about the shoes. Come on, girl. What's your name, anyhow?"

"Sarah Williams." Sarah smiled and held out her hand.

"Well, then, Sarah Williams, let's get you kitted out." Gracie shook the offered hand and motioned for Sarah to follow her.

Three stores down, Sarah walked into a big, rustic store that reminded her of the dry goods stores in western movies. There were clothes everywhere, not food and odds-and-ends. Boots lined one wall. Leather goods, like vests and chaps, had a large corner. Jeans of every size imaginable were stacked neatly on shelf after shelf. Shirts were folded or hung, most of them with snap-fronts. From hat to spurs, this one store held everything bit of clothing needed by a rancher or his workers.

"Wow," Sarah breathed.

"You never been shoppin' before?" Gracie teased, heading over to the jeans first.

"Not in a single store with this much…or this big. It's huge!" Sarah followed Gracie to the jeans and started looking at the sizes. "I'm a size seven," she said.

"Like hell you are," Gracie snorted. "Oh, maybe in those designer things your wearing, but these are real jeans, and they come in real sizes. Here. Try these." She handed Sarah a pair of size fours. "Everything here's bootcut, so it's not going to hug your legs like those do. Tight on the ass, loose on the calves--and you'll be grateful for both by the end of the day, I promise you." Gracie frowned, looking at Sarah's height. "No, you just might need the longs for those legs." She grabbed another pair of jeans for Sarah, then another. "And just in case I'm wrong, here's a five long and a five regular, too. Dressing room's over there. Scoot!"

Bemused and still surprised with the way Gracie had simply taken over, Sarah took the jeans back to the dressing room. Once inside, she dropped her backpack, skinned out of the well-worn designer jeans, and slid into the stiff fabric of the new denims. Maybe it was the princess in her, but she hated scratchy jeans, and these felt like sandpaper. She zipped and snapped and discovered that Gracie had been correct. These four longs were just perfect. Until she washed them the first time, at which point they'd fit Barbie better than they would her. She pulled off the fours and put on the fives. After washing, hot or cold, these would be just fine.

"Here," came a voice from behind the curtain. A hand thrust in six shirts in different cuts and sizes. "Put these on--you got jeans on yet?"

Sarah didn't bother to reply, just pulled back the curtain. When Gracie smiled, Sarah just said, "Five longs, if I'm supposed to wash my clothes and wear them again."

"Five longs it is." She yelled over to the clerk to get six pair of five-longs for Sarah. The clerk yelled something back, but Sarah didn't quite catch it. "Here, these are the basic work-shirt styles. Box-cut, darted, and fitted. With those boobs, I'm betting you'll need the box cut for most days, but the darted would do well for you on Sunday. I've got to go kick that boy's behind for talkin' that way. The sizes are on the labels--check each shirt. Not too loose, or you could get hurt, but you have to have full range of movement." Gracie pursed her lips and shook her head. "I hope you're not as scrawny as you look, sugar."

"Not quite," Sarah grinned, watching Gracie stalk over to the rude clerk. She didn't bother to watch Gracie tear into the boy, but closed the curtain again and tried on the shirts. She found two that fit properly, within the guidelines that Gracie had given her. Sarah set those two shirts to one side and neatly hung the others back up. When she walked out of the fitting room, she saw the clerk had been properly humbled and was putting several pairs of jeans into a sack, ringing up each pair.

"Well?" came the expected voice.

"These two fit right," Sarah said, handing the shirts to Gracie. "These are either too tight or too loose."

"All right," Gracie looked at the tags. "Third shelf over there," she pointed. "You go pick out a dozen and I'll put these up."

Sarah walked over to the shirts and found solid colours and simple patterns, some quite pretty. She chose the simple solids and only one or two of the checked shirts, but nothing with flowers or curlicues. There was plenty of experience over the past year that told her looking feminine was not a good idea, especially since she'd be working on a ranch where, she suspected, there may be only one other woman. She didn't want or need that kind of attention.

Gracie walked over and nodded, approving of her choices.

"Who else works for him?" Sarah asked quietly, suddenly needing to know.

"He's got two full-time hands, but they're both married and only bunk at the ranch when it's the busy season. You missed that, by the way. It's summer, so spring round-up is over, the branding's done, and the sale herd has been delivered." Gracie thought for a moment. "There's still plenty to do, especially since one of his hands tends to ride rodeo when the itch comes back. Probably have enough time to train you in the basics before that one goes out ridin' again." She saw the little frown on Sarah's face and understood what she was driving at. "Not to worry. You'd bunk in the house with him, even in the busy seasons. Nobody 'round here is going to mess with you, not on King's ranch and not in town once you work there. He's got a nasty streak--or his pappy did. Come to think of it," Gracie murmured, "he did, too, when he was younger."

"Should I be worried?" Sarah asked, bluntly as Gracie would have.

"Not unless you hurt children, his animals, or try to cozy up to him instead of work." Sarah snorted and Gracie continued. "It's been tried more than once, Sarah. The end result…well, those girls tend to leave and not come back. He didn't do anything to harm them, but whatever pride they had was in tatters when he was done. Got a scary yell when he gets angry, but most of the time he's your standard cowboy. Quiet about what he thinks and feels, soft-spoken with women and children, works hard, sometimes cuts loose, and good-hearted." Gracie shook her head.

"I'm only interested in getting work, Gracie." There was something in Sarah's voice that told Gracie the younger girl wasn't kidding. She was not interested in getting a man, which would be enough for the women in town who were her age and a little older to accept her without worrying about competition for the few single men.

"All right, then," Gracie nodded. "Take those shirts to the counter and we'll go look for what you need under those. Let's see…" Sarah followed Gracie to another section where an older lady was sitting in a comfortable chair with her feet up. "Janie, I got you a customer."

"Do you now?" the woman called Janie replied, standing. "Well, you are certainly new in town. I'm Jane Masters. Some people," she continued dryly, cutting her eyes at Gracie, "call me by my nickname from grade school. Please, just call me Jane."

"I will," Sarah smiled. "I'm Sarah Williams."

"So, you're going out to King's ranch." It wasn't a question. "Not surprised. Hmm…" Janie studied Sarah for a long minute, making the girl squirm a bit. "Tiny little thing, aren't you." Without so much as a by-your-leave, Janie walked Sarah to the mirror then pulled the back of her shirt so the front was tight. "And those aren't tiny. How old is that bra you're wearing? Never mind, it's too old and too flimsy for what you'll need to do in a day. Here," Janie released her and walked over to a display of what Sarah had thought of as jog-bras, made for exercise classes and runners. "Try this one. It might be too loose. These wear hard, so you won't have to replace it too soon. Give me your size and I'll hunt up a regular style for you, too, for Sundays."

Sarah gave her size and took the workout gear behind a screen in the area. She didn't worry about anyone coming over, since Janie and Gracie were both just a few feet away on the other side. As she tried on the new underwear, she considered the placement of the screen. It was a large screen with beautiful paintings of horses and a mountain on it. The six panels formed an L so that no one could see into the little fitting area. Once she had the first jog-bra on, Sarah was surprised at how comfortable it was. She twisted and turned to see how it moved. When she turned, she saw a smug Janie looking back at her.

"I knew that would fit you. Here, give me the other two and try these. I picked out the three basic colours for you," she handed Sarah the undergarments in her size, "but they're basic. I'll throw in one or two frilly little things for when you want to remember you're more than another hand and you really are female." Janie walked back around the screen and grabbed a stack of bras for Sarah. She sent Gracie to the register with them and, while Sarah was trying on the basics, walked over to the panties. "I'll bet you're out of these, too, sweetheart," Janie murmured, thinking of the girl's tired eyes and travel-worn appearance. "And King can just eat the expense." Stacking up a large variety of plain, serviceable, and boring underclothes.

"Don't forget the matching pretties," Gracie said, coming back. "King will just have to live with it." The King family, what was left of it, had been ranching in the area for close to 100 years. Somehow, and they never did say how, they had made a fortune prior to the crash of '29. The ranch was their home, not their sole or main source of income. That was also why the King's son had left town for nearly 20 years--he was taking care of the family business that was easily run from the ranch.

Janie looked over at her conspirator. "You know he's going to be upset if we go all-out on her kit." She was being contrary just for the sake of contrariness.

"If he gets a bee in his bonnet, I'll tell him what I told him as a child--he can shut up about it or he can whine about it, but he's going to pay for it anyway." Gracie sighed. "He was a cute kid and a fine young man. Looks even better now, what with some years on him."

"And we," Janie sighed, pointing back and forth between herself and her friend, "are too old to be of interest to him." A speculative gleam entered her eyes. "You think that one…" she jerked her head toward the screen where Sarah was still making sure the bras were identical in fit. She'd learned the hard way that numbers on tags lie.

Gracie just smirked and picked up some lacy underpants.

The two women cackled and continued picking out delicate and practical things they deemed every woman needed. Flannel and cotton pajamas went into the stacks, as did socks and slippers and stockings, pantyhose as well as stockings and garter-belt. Gracie picked up a negligee and turned to Janie. Janie thought about it for a moment, then shook her head.

"Green. And get the one with feathers, too."

Gracie got the pieces in question and added something else that would probably shock the girl, but, if her gut was right, King would appreciate.

"She needs a few pretty dresses, too," Janie said, looking over the small mountain of private things they'd pulled for Sarah.

"Let her buy those with her own money later," Gracie countered. "She won't like it if she gets everything at once. In fact, I'm taking all of this over to be packed up for her before she comes out. Don't tell her what all we got. Shoes are next."

Janie nodded and, while Gracie hauled the clothes to the register, went back to the screened section. Sarah was just buttoning her shirt again.

"Thanks, Janie. There's only one that doesn't fit--the pink one."

"Not your colour anyway. You'd look better in peach, not baby pink. Next stop is boots. You'll need 3 pair--riding, work, and slush--I think you'd call 'em galoshes." At Sarah's nod, Janie took the bras from her and pointed to the wall of boots. "Left side is women's, and I'll be over in a minute to pull the right sizes for you. What size do you wear?"

"It depends on the cut of the shoe," Sarah grimaced. "My feet are long and narrow, so a lot of styles are hard for me to fit easily, but I usually wear a size 9, narrow."

"What's your heel?"

"I…don't remember. I haven't had shoes with a specific heel size in ages."

"We'll get you measured again, then. Go on and sit down. Or look at the hats. You'll need one of those to keep from blistering." With that, Janie turned and passed Gracie on the way to the register. "She needs measuring." Gracie nodded, but didn't reply.

"Good grief," the clerk said, staring at the stack in front of him. "King's gonna be on the lookout for you and Gracie."

"Hush, Rob, and get to ringin' up. I'll handle King if need be." Janie turned and walked back over to the boots.

"I love you, Mama, but he's gonna bury you," Rob muttered, punching in prices the way his mother had ordered.

"I heard that," Janie growled, not bothering to turn around. Rob was her son, true, but he was also full-grown. He sometimes said things that would have gotten him in trouble as a boy, and Janie knew that he knew she wouldn't do anything now unless he really needed it.

Rob just sighed and kept punching in numbers. The cap King had said was the maximum he'd spend for setting up an employee's kit was about to be a memory. Six frilly scraps of lace and some feathered negligees later, Rob knew he would not be answering the telephone for a few months.

"So, what's the size?" Janie asked, seeing Gracie had gotten the measurements.

"Nine C with an A heel. You are a skinny little thing." Janie walked over to the display and looked through the manufacturers. There was only one that carried double-last shoes for such narrow heels. King was certainly going on the warpath when he got this bill.

Gracie put up the measuring device and looked at Sarah's worn socks. She didn't say anything as she stood and grabbed a new pair from the rack, opening them and handing them to her. Sarah looked down and blushed, pulling up one leg and changing socks. She had been somewhat vain as a younger teen, but she'd grown out of that over the past two years. Still, it grated that she hadn't been able to replace the torn socks--or even mend them. She had no idea how to mend socks.

"Here we go," Janie said, coming over as Sarah finished pulling on her second sock. "Try these beauties on for size." She lifted out a pair of gorgeous leather boots. Sarah held the boot in her hand for a long minute, admiring the dark caramel colour, careful tooling, and dress heel.

"They're gorgeous. These can't be for work." The leather was rich and beautiful, but it was the kind of leather that would scuff and still look good, like well-made loafers or hiking boots.

"Riding. Believe me, you'll want the leather between your legs and the stirrup straps after several hours," Gracie said. "I know you ride, but you've never done serious riding like you will here--hours on end for days on end. Fences may be checked by driving most of the time, but there's some fences and places on King's spread that you can't get to in a truck, and on foot is just askin' for trouble."

Sarah nodded and slipped her foot into the boot. The stiff leather went halfway up to her knee, the classic front and back v dipping low on shin and calf. After sliding the second boot on, she stood and walked across the store and back. She stopped in front of Janie, who pressed the toe, sides, and heel to check the fit.

"Perfect," Janie said, smiling. "Now try the workboots. They're not as pretty, but you'll wear them as much or more than these."

Sarah tried on three pair of workboots before she got a pair that was comfortable for her and that Janie approved of. Janie and Gracie didn't tell her the prices, but Sarah caught sight of the tag on the box for the riding boots. Two hundred fifty dollars for one pair of riding boots! She was going to take more than one paycheck to pay for all of this.

The boots and galoshes and a pair of tennis shoes later, Sarah was almost done. She needed two belts, a hat, and a few other incidentals that Gracie and Janie would not let her go without.

"I don't need--" Sarah tried more than once.

"You do, and stop arguing about it," Janie said, Gracie backing her up.

Sarah was tired when she got off the bus, and she was more tired now. It was getting late, and these two women showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. Picking her battles, Sarah surrendered. Over the last two years, she learned very well which battles were worth the pain and exhaustion and which ones were pointless. This one was pointless, even if it did put her in the unenviable position of working off a rather large debt before she could get the money to move on. She wasn't sure where she'd go, but she knew she'd be moving on again soon. She didn't mind the gypsy lifestyle, but she was getting tired of all-new faces and brand-new places.

"There," Gracie said, smirking. "Done. Let's get this loaded up and I'll take you out to the ranch to meet King."

"All right," Sarah said, picking up two bags. She was appalled at the number of bags she'd accumulated. "Gracie, you really shouldn't have---"

"Yes, I should have. Even if you don't stay, Sarah, you'll be able to go a long way on what you got today." Gracie pursed her lips and was about to continue when she heard Sarah's stomach growl. "You didn't eat earlier, did you?"

"No, ma'am," Sarah replied, putting the packages in Janie's truck.

"When's the last meal you had, girl?"

"Breakfast," Sarah replied, not saying that it had been yesterday's breakfast. She could go a little longer on the water she'd had on the bus.

"Janie," Gracie said to the other woman, "have Rob take all this out to the ranch for us. I'll take Sarah after I get her fed. Breakfast--not today, either, was it?"

Sarah shook her head, closing her eyes. "I can't pay--"

"Nonsense. You'll be working for King, and that's enough." The certainty in Gracie's and Janie's voices had been gnawing at Sarah since this shopping expedition started.

"You seem so certain he'll be willing to pay for this and take me on," Sarah finally said, voicing the little nagging worry that had been plaguing her all day. "Why?"

Gracie's eyes flashed with the insult, but then she stopped. "Come on. I'll tell you while you eat." Gracie took Sarah's arm and half-dragged her back down to the diner.

Inside, Gracie ordered for them both and sat down in her private booth. She thought for a while, waiting until dinner came and both of them were eating before she started talking. She saw Sarah ate slowly, carefully. The meal was good, wholesome, and hearty. Sarah ate enough for them both, confirming Gracie's suspicions that the girl had fallen on more hard times than she wanted to admit. Anyone that thin who ate so much at one sitting wasn't eating regularly or well.

"The Kings go back a long way here. There's a lot of things that we still hold to in this town, things that aren't true a lot of other places, even up here. We don't ask questions when people show up. We try to help and expect others to do the same. In the Kings' philosophy, this goes a bit further. Long time ago, the man who bought the property and started the ranch said he'd gotten help when he least expected it and without asking for it from someone who didn't ask anything but some honest work in return. He did the same for drifters who came through, looking for work or a meal. Back then, if you had food and someone showed up on your door, you shared. Period. Guests were unexpected as often as not.

"Sometimes, the people King helped would stay for the rest of their lives--that's where most of this town comes from. Sometimes, they'd drift off after a few days with some pay in their pockets. Most of the time, though, it was somewhere in-between. You're one of the in-betweeners, honey. I can see it on you a mile away. You'll stay to work off your debt and get some money, then you'll go. I'd be lyin' if I didn't say we'd like to see King settled and making sure he has a boy to inherit the ranch, but he's not shown any inclination to do that yet. His pappy passed on about four years ago, so he came home and took up the ranch. I told you earlier about the women, remember?" Sarah nodded and Gracie continued. "His pappy was the same way. One day, a girl came into town and went out to work for him, cookin' and cleanin' and in general doin' what needed to be done. He fell for her and married her. Jay is their son. We're kinda hopin' the same thing will happen for him."

"Not with me," Sarah said, between bites. "I'm not looking for anything but a job to get me further down the road."

"Honey, sometimes it doesn't matter what we're lookin' for. Sometimes, the only thing matters is what finds us," Gracie said, lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke from the corner of her mouth. The look in her eye was one that only comes from a long life and experiences that Sarah didn't have yet.

Sarah started to reply, but settled for shaking her head and finishing her meal. After dinner, she walked to Gracie's car and climbed in. The ride was long and quiet, taking Sarah through some of the most breathtaking scenery she had ever imagined. There was a peace here, looking out on the wild landscape. The cows seemed just a part of the picture, almost unreal.

Finally, Gracie turned down a long drive and stopped in front of a large ranch house.

"Here you are, hon," she said, motioning to the house. "Everyone's out on evening rounds, so just wait on the porch. He'll be up here before the stars come out." She thought, but didn't add, 'Nap if you can, honey, because you are going to be worthless in the morning if you don't.'

"Thank you, Gracie," Sarah said softly, "for everything."

Gracie waved off the thanks and waited until Sarah was settled on one of the benches on the porch before pulling off.

Sarah watched the yard for a while before she started getting sleepy. Before the sky started turning peach and gold, her eyes drifted shut and she slept a truly restful sleep. Three hours after she dropped off, the sound of boots on the walk to the steps brought her sharply awake. Sarah stood up, watching as the tall, slender man mounted the steps, peeling off work gloves, hat obscuring any view of his face. He was slender, but it was obvious from the fit of his jeans and shirt that he was strong.

Not certain he'd seen her, Sarah spoke.

"Mr. King, I'm--" Sarah stopped speaking when the man looked up at her, his face shadowed by his hat but well-known to her dreams and nightmares.

"Sarah?" he asked, the surprise making his crisp accent and pleasant voice sharp.

Sarah stared into the face of one Goblin King and felt her knees give way. Of all the ways, of all the places to meet again, a ranch in Montana after she'd fallen on rough times was not what she'd imagined, not even in her wildest dreams. Jareth lunged forward and caught her just before she hit the porch, cradling her gently against his chest, his nose only an inch from hers as he stared into her eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she breathed at the same time he asked her the same question.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	2. A Teenaged Kid So Far from Home

THAT SUMMER

**inspired by the song "That Summer" by Garth Brooks**

**Ch. 2 A Teenaged Kid So Far from Home**

**Disclaimer: **Neither the song "That Summer" nor the movie _Labyrinth_ are mine, and I make no money or other profit from my writing. Would I could and did, but I don't.

**Rating: M **for mature themes & sometimes explicit scenes including, but not limited to, death, drugs/alcohol, abuse, and sex. If you can't handle these things, leave now.

**A/N: **Song lyric titles will be similar, not exact and not necessarily in order, so it's not mistakes, just works best this way.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Jareth stared down into Sarah's wide, shocked eyes. Sarah noticed that he wasn't concealing his own surprise at seeing her. That alone gave her the strength to stand up straight again, taking her weight off his right arm. He had caught her body with that arm, grabbing her right hand with his left to keep her from turning and slipping from his grasp. Her hand left hand had come to rest on his shoulder, reminding her of the dance they had shared in a crystal dream. She was standing pressed against him this time, not formally apart with hoop skirts in the way. Somehow, in the labyrinth, his clothing and graceful movements had belied the strength of his body. Now she got to experience his arms around her and appreciate that strength, with a fuller understanding of the possibilities that had existed between them years ago.

"Are you still mad at me?" she blurted, not thinking past their past, a thirteen hour struggle for control.

"I never was," Jareth replied, honestly, surprised anew at the question. She was almost steady now, and he didn't want to let her go until she had her feet under her firmly. "Are you still terrified of me?" he returned.

"I…don't know," Sarah confessed. "Maybe?" Her legs were steady now, and she stiffened just a bit in his embrace. "But why are you _here_?" she asked again, searching his face for answers. She was out of luck. Nothing was printed so conveniently on his forehead.

Jareth couldn't help the little twitch of lips that became a smile as he released her. "You first," he half-teased, "but not right now." He looked her over carefully. "You're obviously exhausted. Talk can wait until morning. Let me show you up to your room."

Sarah bit her lip. He seemed tired and it was late enough that the stars were coming out. She was supposed to start work tomorrow, and she had just eaten the first really good meal she'd had in several days. She was grungy, and she was certain she smelled horrible. On the other hand, Jareth wasn't exactly smelling of sunshine and summer breezes after working with livestock in the heat, but she didn't have that excuse.

"Okay," she replied, surprising him again. She hadn't fought with him or hurled accusations at his head. Either she was grown up or she was in worse shape than he previously thought. "Did anyone deliver…" she stopped, blushing at how much Jane and Gracie had put in the truck.

"I saw Rob's truck earlier, so I presume he did bring in your kit. I was out at the barn, but he's delivered for me before. Everything is waiting for you upstairs, probably in the blue room." Jareth stepped over to the door and opened it, motioning for her to precede him. He didn't mention that the bill was most likely on the table, waiting for him.

"Oh," Sarah winced. "Gracie and Jane did the shopping," she told him as she stepped into the house. "I think they got a bit carried away."

Jareth raised one eyebrow. "You weren't in the thick of it?" He walked in behind her and flipped on the lights.

"Not all the time. A few times I was checking the fit…and I did try to talk them out of things, but they wouldn't listen." Sarah blushed, not entirely sure why. Jareth motioned toward the stairs and Sarah walked over and started climbing.

"I'm not going to ask," Jareth sighed, his voice resigned. He was quite familiar with Jane and Gracie, so if they went on a complete shopping binge, they had a reason. He eyed the clothes Sarah was wearing, worn, but clean. The seams were fraying on her jeans and the shirt was too thin. Yes, they had reason. He didn't really mind. Sarah had gotten his attention years ago, and the changes four years had wrought were more than a bit obvious. "We can sort all of that out later. Tonight, though, you should unpack, get a shower, and--forgive me for not asking earlier, but have you eaten?"

"Yes, thak you," Sarah said, reaching the top of the stairs and looking around, moving out of the way so Jareth could pass her. There were several doors lining the hallway, only one at the end of the hall was closed.

"Very well," he said, motioning to a room with pale blue walls. "If you need something warm to help you sleep, the kitchen is downstairs on the left, just to the right of the front door. It's not the most aesthetically pleasing arrangement, but it is convenient when feeding large numbers of cowboys or guests. Cups, milk, cocoa, all of those are in the cupboards. I don't have any tea, but there is an herbal mix on the counter--chamomile. With a bit of honey, it will help you relax."

"I appreciate it, but I don't think that will be necessary," Sarah demurred. "What time do I need to get up in the morning?"

"Anytime before 5:30, as that's when breakfast is served. We start work shortly after 6:00." Jareth followed her into the blue room and nearly choked at the number of bags on the bed and floor. If he hadn't known the coverlet and curtains were white, the furniture white pine, he would never have guessed. He pursed his lips. A call to Jane and Gracie was definitely in order. He didn't mind them going a bit overboard, but they'd sunk the ship this time. He could afford it--that wasn't the problem. Boundaries were.

"Oh my gosh!" Sarah yelped, walking into the small room and seeing the ocean of bags before her. "I knew there was a lot…this is ridiculous!"

"Mm," was Jareth's only reaction. "Would you like some help putting all of this away? You'll be here until morning, else."

"Please," she said, grabbing the boot boxes from one bag and putting them in the bottom of the closet. "I cannot believe this…"

Jareth pulled jeans and shirts out of two bags. Together, they hung the shirts in the small closet and put the jeans and t-shirts in the dresser. Two bags of "incidentals", including shampoo, soap, lotion, and several other accessories were put on top of the dresser. Belts and hat were hung on a little Shaker-style pegboard while the chaps were put over the back of the small wooden chair in the corner.

"You know how to put those on?" Jareth asked conversationally.

"Learned at the store. They're a bit awkward, but it's not difficult," she replied absently, unpacking plain cotton and flannel pajamas from the bag in front of her.

Jareth smiled at the comment, noticing they were over halfway through the bags. The next thing he drew out made him draw in a sharp breath, eyes flashing. Sarah turned to look at him, words dying in her throat as her eyes went wide with shock. She blushed furiously at seeing the green, feathered negligee dangling from Jareth's fingers. She caught the look on his face and her own temper suddenly flared.

"I _told_ them I was here to work," she snapped, grabbing the flimsy cloth from his hands. "I don't want anything else. This," she shook the offending garment, "is going _back._"

"And the rest of it?" Jareth asked, forcing himself to take a step back from the automatic, accusing words that came to mind when he saw outrage. She'd no idea what was in these bags. No woman could pull off that kind of innocent outrage with knowledge aforethought, not with him. He'd seen it all, and this was certainly not an attempt at seduction or coy objection on Sarah's part.

Sarah looked into the bag and let loose an inventive set of descriptions of Jane and Gracie, along with no few threats of "when I get my hands on" one or the other and several impressive curses. His mood swinging from irritated to highly entertained, Jareth listened and barely refrained from clapping when she finally wound down. As she vented, Sarah had moved three full bags to sit by the door. Threats of being stuffed them down certain throats hovered over the innocent garments.

"I take it you weren't with them when they pulled this bit of mischief," Jareth managed without betraying his amusement.

"No," she snarled. "I was trying on the plain, ordinary…things." She remembered whom she was addressing before she finished the thought. "I'll take it all back tomorrow, Jareth. I'm sorry. I should have asked--"

Jareth waved off her protests. "What's done is done. Keep them." He gave her a mischievous look. "You can give me a fashion show one day."

"Not fucking likely," Sarah hissed, eyes narrowing on him. She had heard more blatant come-ons than that, but that Jareth said it made her more angry than wary. He had not expected such a reaction to the jest, but, upon reflection, it had been more crude than their relationship thus far would allow.

"Forgive me," Jareth apologized softly, recognizing true insult in her voice. "My remark was uncalled for and far too familiar. My apologies, Sarah, if I have made you uncomfortable."

"No," Sarah replied, a bit surprised at the depth of her own reaction. "I shouldn't have snapped at you." She took a deep breath. "I've…gotten a lot of comments like that over the past year or so. I tend to overreact sometimes." She looked back at the bags, irritated anew. "You don't want me to take all of that…those things…back?"

"Not necessary," he said, smiling softly. "Your offer to take it out of certain hides, however, will be entertaining to watch."

Sarah gave a short little laugh. "Do you plan to assist, or will you just be cheering me on?"

"Perhaps a bit of both," he replied, his smile getting wider. He would definitely enjoy hearing Sarah rake the two older women over the coals--or try to. He was familiar with both of the women in Memphis, Montana, but this new Sarah seemed to have quite the backbone to her. It would be vastly entertaining, though he was certain few others in town would view it the same way. He realized that Sarah probably didn't want him to continue unpacking if they had gotten to her private wear. "I'll leave you to finish the rest," he said with no little delicacy. "Before I leave you, though, the bathroom is on your left, the next room. Hot water is almost limitless, so don't worry about running out. Towels and washcloths are on the rack on the wall, as is the hairdryer. My room is at the end of the hall. Should you need anything, please don't hesitate to knock."

"Thanks," Sarah said, "I will. And thank you for the help. This would have taken a lot longer than it has, otherwise."

"You're welcome," Jareth replied. With that, he turned and left the room. Sarah followed him to the doorway, biting her lip and feeling oddly pleased, relieved, and secure. Even with that come-on comment, she knew he wouldn't try anything. He never had, really. Even in the labyrinth, when he had scared her, he had also made her feel oddly safe. He was opening his door when she finally called out one last time.

"Good night," Sarah said, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Good night," he replied, glancing over his shoulder at the face in the doorway. He smiled at her briefly, then disappeared into his room.

Sarah returned to her unpacking, making short work of her ordinary and pretty underthings. She made a quick sort by type, bras in one pile, panties in another, stockings and socks in yet another, then dumped the contents of each pile into separate drawers in the dresser. The sexy nightclothes and underwear would just have to wait. She still wasn't sure she wanted to keep it, even though Jareth had told her it was okay with him.

She shook her head at her thoughts, then grabbed what she needed to prepare for bed, and ducked into the bathroom. It was also small, but only because the tub was a big, old-fashioned slipper tub with a modern drain and showerhead coming out of the wall. The toilet didn't take up much room, neither did the pedestal sink or mirror, but the arrangement was definitely for convenience, and possibly for more than one person to use the room at the same time. Jareth had spoken of the room as if it were singular, and there were another six doors down the hallway. If they were all bedrooms, it would only make sense that sharing the facilities was necessary. Renovations on a house this old were tricky at best, or so her mother had always said.

Sarah forced herself to stop thinking and concentrated on scrubbing body, hair, and teeth. She made use of all the facilities in the proper order, finally drying the top part of her hair, not wanting to spend the extra hour on the mass that fell from her neck to her waist. She combed out her wet hair and patted any excess moisture out with a towel, then picked up her things and went back to her room.

As she walked back the short distance to her room, she felt the long day's travel and activity catch up to her. She had enough energy to put her things down and crawl into bed, unable to think of anything but how comfortable it was to have a real bed again, not a cot or a seat on an old bus. She was asleep almost immediately.

In his room, Jareth finished his bath and climbed into his bed, not quite tired enough to drop off immediately. He reflected on what he'd learned about his new employee in a little over an hour's time. Her politeness and, not innocence, but something similar, had taken him by surprise. He appreciated the unspoiled way she had reacted to the inappropriate lingerie among the purchases. It was obvious that she had done more growing-up in the last four years than the physical. Getting to know this self-possessed, if somewhat fiesty, woman and how she differed form the spoilt brat he'd met before would be interesting at the very least. The idea of a liaison hadn't crossed his mind--Sarah was an employee and a girl who needed someone to look after her for a while. As he drifted off to sleep, he couldn't help but wonder what Sarah's story was, and he also couldn't help being glad his brother was stuck running the kingdom while he got to stay up on the ranch.

*****

In the morning, Sarah woke up to the buzzing of her alarm clock. She smacked the annoying little thing and sat up, groggy. The night's sleep had been wonderful and quiet, but the thought of getting up before the sunrise had never sat well with her. She staggered to the chair and got her clothes, determined to be awake for breakfast, which would be served in about thirty minutes. She showered and dressed in jeans and a comfortable button-down shirt. After putting her hair in a good braid, she walked down the stairs in her socks. Not knowing exactly what she was going to be doing that day made her hesitate on the choice of shoes.

She met Jareth in the kitchen where he was waiting on the coffee to finish percolating on the stove. He had also gotten out eggs, bacon, and the makings for omelets. Sarah walked over to him and smiled a shy good morning at him.

"Can I help?" she asked, voice still rough from sleep.

"I got everything out, but if you want to go ahead and prep the eggs for the pan, that's fine." As he spoke, he was heating a cast-iron skillet to a nice, even temperature. The stove was large, the range with six eyes and a griddle to one side. He hadn't been kidding when he mentioned feeding large numbers of people. Sarah looked around. Most of the kitchen was commercial grade, even the mop sink in a little alcove to the side. The cabinets were beautiful wood and looked like solid maple. It was the countertop, though, that got the most attention. It was a two-inch marble slab, obviously made to be used and abused. She wondered just how well-off Jareth was, then she saw the pan he was using.

"Isn't iron…dangerous for you?" Sarah asked, watching him work.

"No," he replied laughing a bit. "Is that old wives' tale still batted around--iron is bad for the Fae? I can't see why it would be, given that it's a naturally occurring metal. We wear clothes that aren't pure raw cotton, wear jewelry that has been smelted and separated from the ore, live in houses made of cut and treated wood, brick, and stone--why would iron be any different?"

"Now that you mention it," she said thoughtfully, "I can't see how it would be. So the whole salt thing doesn't work either?"

"No, but it's an excellent seasoning on mutton," he shuddered.. "I despise mutton. Anything could make mutton taste better."

"Fried dog poop?" Sarah asked, grinning.

"Beer-battered, perferably," he returned, noticing her nose wrinkle in disgust. "Like I said, anything would make mutton taste better." Jareth pulled down two mugs and poured the coffee. "How do you take yours?" he asked.

"With cream, if there is any," she answered, gauging the heat of the pan. "Want me to go ahead and pour up the eggs?" When he indicated she should do just that, Sarah added butter to the hot pan and carefully poured the beaten eggs into the hot grease. She waited a moment for the bottom of the egg to start firming and began adding the different vegetables. Jareth took a quick sip of scalding hot coffee, bit back a curse, and laid out the bacon on the griddle.

"Hot?" Sarah asked, her voice carefully innocent.

"No," he replied, curling his abused tongue onto itself. "Just about right." He took another scalding sip. Sarah shook her head and decided he was a caffeine junkie.

Breakfast didn't take long to make. They were both working quietly and easily next to one another. The cook times were similar and he'd already put biscuits in the oven, so breakfast was ready and served in about ten minutes.

"I can't believe how much there is," Sarah said, looking at her plate. "I don't know if I can eat it all." She'd cut the egg down the center of the pan and carefully folded the halves into fluffy thirds, but even half of the omelet took up over half her plate. The biscuit was huge; the bacon thick and medium-crispy.

"Try," Jareth replied, working on his own plate which was heaped higher than hers. "Trust me, by lunch, you'll be glad you did."

Nodding, Sarah tucked in and it wasn't long until she had finished most of her plate. They sat back in their chairs and Jareth eyed her as he poured a second cup of coffee. It was time to let breakfast settle and delve into what was not said the night before. Sarah dreaded it, but she knew he wouldn't be satisfied without answers. Somehow, she suspected he would know if she lied, either by deliberate alteration of facts or by omission. There were some things that she didn't want him to know, but she knew he'd find out. The humiliating things always came out, usually when it was most damaging.

"So how did you come to be all the way out here?" he asked, bringing up the promised conversation.

Sarah looked down at her coffee mug. After taking a deep breath, she began to speak.

"I guess it started after I got back from your labyrinth," she said, thinking about that night. "I had a party with Hoggle and Sir Didymus and the others. I had intended to keep track of them, but about three weeks later I turned sixteen, so I was busy with all of the planning and so on. Karen and I got closer over those few weeks, and afterward we weren't so awkward with each other. Then the bad news started coming. Two months after my birthday, my mother died while she was filming overseas. She got some sort of spider bite, and the complications and lack of good medical care turned her septic. She died, her body was brought back, and I went to her funeral. It was rough. It felt like she'd left Dad all over again, and it was hard to just keep on going like everything would be okay.

"Life went on, though, and that's when Karen and I started fighting again. It took a few months, but we started getting along a little better, mostly because I took care of Toby when she needed me to, but there was still something missing. We weren't as close as we had been before Mom died. I should have called my friends to talk with them. I never really did fit in at school. The popular kids didn't want me, the nerds thought I was stupid, and the rest…never mind. It's not worth going over the subgroups and cliques found in the American high school setting." Sarah sipped her coffee and thought for a minute. "Anyway, I didn't want to find out that the labyrinth had all been a dream, so I didn't call my friends." She took a deep breath. "Or you. I just couldn't stand finding out that none of it was real. So I just kept going, living off the memories and enduring the next few months. Things got better when summer rolled around, but about a month after I turned 17, my dad was killed in a wreck.

"Karen collapsed. She wasn't the independent type, and Dad always looked after her. That meant I had to make the arrangements, take care of the house and Toby--everything. I got through it, though. About a month later, Karen walked in the house with a new husband. I hadn't even known she was dating. It was hate at first sight--not the petty kind of dislike I'd had for Karen with Dad, but real hate. He hated me just as much." Sarah looked down at her coffee and took a sip. She kept looking at her cup when she talked.

"We fought. He was good to Toby and Karen, but with me…he…beat me the first time not long after New Year's. The next time, it was after Valentine's Day, and he started watching me too closely. Walking in when I was showering or changing clothes, standing too close, brushing by me. It wasn't until March that he started beating me on a regular basis. It came to a head when I applied to a few colleges." She took a deep breath and continued, closing her eyes to block out the pain of the memories. "He said he wasn't going to pay for me to go to school, that I should be paying rent. He started touching me, and I couldn't stand it so I got him mad instead. After that, about twice a week I'd end up on the wrong end of his belt or an electrical cord." She didn't want to see the contempt on his face, so she didn't look up. "He never used his fists, always some sort of belt or cord or switch. It was worst when he used the buckle, though. I hid it and didn't say anything because it was only for two months. I could handle two months, and I did.

"After I graduated, he kicked me out. Mr. Hughes let me put some things in his garage for storage--he was Dad's partner, so I'd grown up with him around. He treated my like a niece or granddaughter." Sarah took another sip of coffee. "I went to New York City. I just knew that I'd make it as an actress." She snorted. "I didn't make it off the train before some smarmy guy was trying to convince me he had a good job for me, dancing and partying. I was innocent in a lot of ways, but I was never that stupid. I got out of the station intact, but after about six weeks, I was low on cash and still hadn't had so much as an offer to be a cow in a background scene--or a tree. I left New York, went to Chicago. There, I managed to get a job in a music store--guitar lessons were free. Again, no luck with the acting, and after a while, the money ran out again. I left there and went to the next fairly large city west of Chicago. Then again, and again…" She looked up then.

"I had Mr. Hughes sell most of my things. I was taking odd jobs, building up enough to move on, and going further west each time." She sighed. "I didn't really have a destination in mind when I left Chicago, just…looking for something, I guess."

"What were you looking for?" Jareth asked, sitting calmly and not passing judgement on her. Sarah? Beaten? Selling off everything? It seemed almost impossible.

"I don't know. Something." She poured another cup of coffee and drank it black. "Anyway, I got here on the last of my money, and Gracie picked me up and delivered me like a stray to you." She looked into his eyes then. "I have to tell you something, and I don't want you to take it wrong. You're the reason I'm here today--not broke, but here." She saw the raised eyebrow and shook her head. "I'm saying this wrong. Look, it was wrong for me to wish Toby away, and I was so fixated on getting him back that I…well, I think I either upset you or angered you. I'm sorry if I did, but if I hadn't wished him away, if I hadn't run the labyrinth…I probably would have been whoring myself out, not just selling my furniture or my clothes. I probably wouldn't have gotten out of that house without being raped. I know I wouldn't have made it through my parents' funerals without losing it. It may be backwards and twisted around, but without you, without your labyrinth, I would have stayed that same spoiled brat that I had been.

"So…thank you."

Jareth stared at her, the nodded slowly, the light gleaming off his neatly tied-back blonde hair. "You're welcome," he replied, seriously as she had thanked him. "In all honesty, I must tell you the labyrinth is designed so that those who are truly sorry for their hasty words can succeed, but only after confronting some of the worst aspects of themselves. You were young and very innocent, so the worst you had to endure was the Hall of Illusions. The rest stayed true to the majority of the book.."

"And if I were to run it now?" Sarah asked, curious. She'd wondered about the way the labyrinth had been so much like her little book, down to the offer from Jareth at the end and the owl-coloured clothes.

"I wouldn't advise trying," Jareth replied softly. "There is no overriding need to correct a mistake, nothing that will keep your nightmares and worst fears form materializing." He hesitated. "Everything you've seen, some of the things you…may have done or at least thought about doing, even briefly, would be available to the labyrinth now. Given what you've told me, I do not believe that would be a good thing for you."

Sarah shook her head, murmuring, "No, it wouldn't." Unable to stand it, she closed her eyes and felt tears gather. "Jareth, I…I did a few things for money that…I didn't…" He waited while she found the words. When she didn't seem to have them available to her, he spoke.

"Sarah, look at me," he said, seeing her eyes open and the tears standing against the soft green. "You survived. I won't judge you. You don't have to say more."

"I do, though," she said, his generosity and kindness prodding her into talking about the rest of her experiences. "I stole a few things, mostly food. I modeled for some nude photographs--not the artistic kind of pictures, either. I don't think the pictures were used, but I don't know." She swallowed hard, the most difficult part was next. "When I said I didn't whore myself out, that wasn't completely true. I did…sell…my mouth," she admitted, choking out the words, "a few times. And not just to men." The tears were falling now, she sniffed and kept on speaking through the tightness of her throat and the shame and humiliation of her memories. "It was either that or…I couldn't go to the Missions. They were in parts of town that, if I went in, I would be part of a string of girls and most likely kept on drugs. I got enough to go on. I was…careful."

"They wore rubbers or used dams?" he asked, speaking to the last part and not the first, his voice calm and non-judgemental. When she nodded, he continued. "Sarah, I don't want to seem overbearing or too personal, but I would like you to see the doctor, just to be sure. If there is anything wrong--and I don't believe there will be--I can…help you." It was the only reference he'd made to his magic other than admitting he was Fae.

Closing her eyes, sniffling and clutching her coffee cup like it was a lifeline, Sarah nodded.

"There's no need for shame," Jareth said, tipping her chin up with his fingers. "Good people have done far worse than what you've said, just to survive."

"I don't want you to think less of me," she admitted hoarsely. She gave a strangled little laugh. "I don't know why it's so important, but it is."

"Because, as you said, I and my labyrinth helped to shape who you are today--a woman strong enough to stand on her own, even if she does occasionally slip and fall. Even when you fell, Sarah, you got back up. That is more commendable than starving virtuously or being unable to do as required to look for a better situation." He gave her a small, sympathetic smile. "If I told you I envied those men, would you hold it against me."

Surprised and oddly grateful for his understanding, Sarah found herself asking, "Why?" She didn't understand why he'd want to have her mouth around him in exchange for some money. Her eyes showed her pain and her confusion.

"Because you are beautiful," he told her, simply and without smiling, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "And such favours from you would be beautiful as well."

"It wasn't…" Words failed her. She just stared at him with her wounded eyes.

"Affection? I know. At best, the act was a business transaction," his smile returned again, a tiny curve of lips. "I should hope that your experiences has not soured you toward such intimacies. One day, you should try it with someone you care about, and see the favour returned."

Mystified and strangely complimented, though she had no idea why and couldn't think well enough to slog through it, Sarah her head. She shifted the subject slightly. "Anyway, now you know why I…overreacted to your modeling comment last night."

"Yes," he agreed, "and I won't make such a careless statement to you again. I won't say I will refrain from teasing you, simply because jokes and teasing are one of the ways that ranch work is bearable." He moved his hand from her chin, his thumb from her lips, and brushed the tears from her cheeks. "I don't think less of you for what you've endured, Sarah. I should hope you will say the same after I tell you of my own life and how I came to be here." Sarah's curiosity was reflected in her movement and her eyes. His eyes grew mischievous and his smile teasing. "Tour of the ranch and your duties first, though. You'll hear my tale tonight over dinner." He glanced at the clock. It was just now six. "I assure you, it is considerably longer."

Nodding and pushing back her chair, Sarah shoved aside everything else and got down to business. "What do I need to wear for shoes?" she asked.

"Boots. We'll be riding for most of the day. Get your chaps, too. I'll put together some sandwiches for our saddlebags. No mayonnaise, but there will be mustard." She took her plate to the sink and began to wash it, only to hear him say, "I'll take care of that. I should be done by the time you've gotten into your boots and chaps."

Sarah nodded and ran up the stairs to put on her chaps and boots. Properly outfitted, she grabbed her hat and walked down the stairs again, hoping she hadn't forgotten everything she'd learned from Mr. Hegerton about riding. If she got thrown by a hobbyhorse, she'd really feel stupid.

In the barn, Jareth had her saddle up Pepper, an older, steady horse that had outgrown her youthful name. She was pleased that she hadn't forgotten how to saddle the horse, even remembering to keep Pepper from blowing out her belly so the cinch strap wasn't loose. After leading the horses out of the barn, Sarah and Jareth mounted and began a walking tour of the ranch. Together, they rode the perimeter of the ranch, Sarah seeing several places where horse and foot were the only ways to get to the fenceline.

"One of your jobs will be to ride the fenceline and repair it as needed. I'll show you how to work the wire-stretcher--there. There's a line down on this fence. Dismount and join me." Sarah did, watching as he threaded the broken barbed wire through the little contraption that had a lever on it. He showed her how to use the wire-stretcher to get the wire taut again and the way handle the wire without destroying her hands through her gloves. He wrapped the broken end around a nail so it would stay, using a hammer to bend the nail over the coiled wire. Sarah noted how it was done, and asked one or two pertinent questions. Receiving her answers, she noticed that Jareth had little to add about what to do about fixing fences. They mounted again and rode for a longer time, Jareth asking her a question after several minutes of looking over the line as they rode.

"Do you know how to use firearms?" he asked, indicating the rifle and pistol he had with him on his saddle.

"No," Sarah replied. "They weren't really a big part of life in my hometown."

"You'll need to learn. This isn't a huge ranch, but we are in one of the wilder areas of the state. Here, we do get the occasional predator or bear, neither of which are good for the herd. If you do see one of these, don't shoot to kill unless the animal is obviously rabid or extremely ill. Scare it off and tell me the details later. If it happens more than once, I'll see what I can do to…discourage the animals. Snakes, on the other hand, you are encouraged to kill, should you cross paths with one."

The conversation about firearms and ranch life continued, Sarah asking and answering questions. There was something that she had noticed, but it was becoming more and more important as they rode.

"You live without magic here, don't you?" Sarah finally asked.

"As much as possible, yes."

"But, why?" Sarah asked, truly confused.

"Several reasons, though the most important reason deals directly with my position in the Underground. Quite simply, ranching reminds me of what my subjects endure on a daily basis. Granted, I do have it somewhat easier because of my wealth, but this is not an easy life. Hobby ranchers don't last long, but my brother and I have kept this ranch going since the early 1900s. We've had to get a bit inventive about the lineage, but we're not about to give it up." He looked over at her. "It's also turning a tidy little profit, which means I don't have to support it with the funds from the kingdom."

"I like that," Sarah said, surprising Jareth yet again. "I wish more people who had power would do that."

Jareth nodded and they rode on in silence for a while, each thinking long thoughts about people and what they do when they have power.

"I noticed the brand," she said a while later. "A tilted crown over a horizontal line. What is the ranch called?"

"Technically, our brand is the Bar Crown K--there's a letter K worked into the crown itself, a rather neat little bit of work that keeps rustling to a minimum--but we're usually called the Lazy Crown, the Drunken Crown, or the Crown Drunks." Sarah laughed at that, and Jareth nodded. "Yes, it is rather ironic. We bought this brand from another man, a hobbyest, who simply didn't have a notion of what he was doing. It's our third ranch--the first was in Texas, but the population got too big."

"I could see where a large number of people would make it difficult for you to keep going," Sarah replied, thinking of the many ways Jareth could be found out.

"When Texas had too many people, we went into Wyoming Territory. After almost seventy years there, it was time to move on again." Jareth gave her a look. "Wasn't I going to tell you all of this tonight?"

"I just asked about the name of the ranch," Sarah replied, batting her eyes innocently. "Is it my fault you ramble on?'

"Brat," Jareth murmured, lips twitching. Sarah grinned at him, then mentioned one other thing she'd noticed.

"You're different here," she said, looking from the fence to the man beside her. "Less intense--no, that's not the right word. Less…flamboyant?"

"A bit of both," he admitted. "I play a part when runners come to the labyrinth, but I am a king. I have to deal with other heads of state and all of the politics that the title implies. Between that and the runners, I will admit to getting testy every so often."

"Like when someone insults your puzzle," Sarah added. "Two hours, Jareth? Followed by the Cleaners?"

He shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. You weren't hurt by it. I knew there was an escape ahead of you."

"There's no use discussing it with you, is there?" she asked, bemused more than irritated.

"Not really, no." He used his chin to point to a low hill with a trickle of a stream running down it. "There's a good spot for lunch." They headed over to the hill and dismounted, picketing the horses and slipping the bits from their mouths so they could eat and drink by the stream.

They ate lunch on the hill, a little over two-thirds of the way around the perimeter of the ranch. It was almost noon, and their slow pace was more for Sarah's benefit than necessity. After lunch, Sarah mentioned restrooms. Jareth gave her an evil grin, then, when she threatened to ride off with both horses, and let him walk back, laughed, telling her that there was an old-fashioned outhouse nearby. Sarah muttered under her breath as they rode to the outhouse and Jareth told her he'd kept it because there was once a line-house there, before he'd gotten the entire ranch fenced in. The line-house was gone, but the outhouse had been so convenient that it had stayed.

After their pit-stop, Jareth and Sarah finished with the far side of the ranch, Jareth talking Sarah through repairs on two more sections of broken wire. She did well, though it took her considerably longer than it had Jareth. As they continued the ride, Sarah's legs and back were aching from her careful posture in the saddle.

"You can relax, Sarah," Jareth said, noticing how carefully straight she sat. "It is permissible for your hips and even shoulders to move with your mount. You'll get sore if you keep sitting so perfectly still."

"I'll be sore anyway, since I've never ridden this long," she replied. "If I get a little bit lazy, I don't know what will happen."

"By lazy you mean relaxing your back a bit," Jareth noted. "Pepper knows this route probably better than I do. Just relax--I don't mean slouch over double, but let your body move a bit with the motion of the horse. I promise, it won't hurt as much."

Sarah did as he said and grimaced. "Every time I did this, Mr. Hegerton would yell at me. 'Heels _down,_Miss Williams!' or 'You are not a sack of potatoes, Miss Williams, so sit up like a lady!' I hated hearing that, so it just became habit--if on horse, sit straight and keep heels down."

"Not bad advice," Jareth noted, "but for distance, not good, either. For riding in an arena, for reigning or dressage or English style, all of that would be fine. That kind of riding started with a purpose and slowly turned into a way to show off how well one looked or how nobly one could ride to the hounds. Western riding, like this, developed more for the sole purpose of work, so the perfect look and form are not as important as the end result. That's not to say that you shouldn't make the effort to ride properly, but the notion of 'perfectly proper' is far from the same." He glanced at her. "Why did you pick Western riding? I would have thought you'd be more interested in the traditional English or European styles."

"Frankly, I was up so high and I was so little that I was afraid of falling off. Western saddles have more to hold on to." Sarah's reply made Jareth chuckle.

"I'll have to tell you about the first time my brother and I rode using Western saddles. It was quite entertaining." He looked up and saw the barn ahead of them. "Almost home."

The word made Sarah's heart ache, the memory of home making her more sensitive to the connotation. It was clear by the tone of Jareth's voice and the light in his eyes that this was truly a home to him, even if he did live in a castle sometimes. Once back at the barn, Jareth slid down easily from the horse, grinning as Sarah gingerly dropped to the ground and winced.

"Take the horses in and unsaddle Pepper. I'll unsaddle Rebel, but you will have to brush them down and muck out the stalls. The care, feeding, watering, brushing, and general welfare of the horses will be your responsibility. Check hooves carefully. If you're not sure, ask. You'll do this every day, for the two of us and any others that ride. Look to the saddle and bridle you used, and don't let anyone else look it over. We take care of our own tack, until it's time to go through the tackroom in full. That's usually a project during winter or a spring storm. We've already gone through and replaced and repaired work and dry leathers this year, but keep track of your gear." He paused, finished with unsaddling Rebel and asked, "Do you know how to use a rope?"

"For tying things onto other things, yes. I you mean like a lariat, the answer is no." Sarah glanced at Jareth as she put the saddle in its proper place. "Why?"

"Because that is another thing you'll need to learn to work the ranch. Not a problem." He watched how stiffly she moved. "A few days of getting into routine and working in the barn before you get other duties and start roping lessons won't hurt you."

"Thanks, Jareth." She wasn't sure if she meant that sarcastically or not, but if she had, it hadn't come out that way.

"You know," he said slowly, considering how to put his request, "people here call me Jay. Some call me Mr. King, but that's hardly our relationship to one another."

"I can't call you Jay or Mr. King, not without laughing," Sarah said. "You're either King Jareth, the Goblin King, or Jareth to me. Sorry." She didn't sound particularly apologetic.

"Then call me what David calls me," he said, the answer coming to him. "Boss."

"I can do that…Boss," Sarah told him, picking up the proper combs and brushes and starting on the grooming. Sometime while she was working, Jareth disappeared from the barn and went to start supper. Sarah didn't complain. She liked riding, though not quite as long as she'd had to today, and she liked taking care of horses, even if it did mean mucking out stalls and the occasional bitchy horse. So far, she was taking care of horses and riding fences. She could handle that much. If her legs stopped trying to fold up under her, if they would close properly again, and if she survived the next few days.

As she worked, Sarah considered what she'd learned about the ranch. Several terms were new to her, but she would have to know and remember them, like chutes and corral numbers. Other things were more interesting than they were absolutely necessary to know, like the way Jareth insisted on raising his cattle. He didn't use the most modern methods, refusing to medicate unless necessary and utlizing feed and pasturing cycles to produce the same results--or better results, she wasn't sure. The cows that she'd seen had looked content, though. Come to think of it, she'd never seen a cow that didn't look content, so she wasn't sure that was a valid measurement of ranching techniques.

There were a few cows she'd seen that weren't very friendly, and those had been back in the heavy brush. Those were the cattle Jareth had mentioned might require her to use a whip or rope to move out of the way, if the fence broke. He explained that a bullwhip was not used to actually beat the animals, but to drive them with noise. Only if it was absolutely required would a flank be kissed by the tip of the lash. The effect, he'd told her, was like a particularly nasty bite from a fly, but usually the animals moved without resorting to such measures. Lessons with a whip were also going to be part of her life for the next few days.

She'd seen the tiny dairy herd, a total of six cows, that Dave's wife kept. Sarah was told that she wouldn't have to deal with those cattle at all, but she would get the benefit of excellent dairy products--like the cream she'd had in her coffee that morning. Fresh-from-the-cow milk was new to Sarah, and she was glad that Dave's wife would be doing the processing that Jareth allowed, namely skimming off cream and butterfat before bottling what was referred to as the raw milk. After everything she'd learned in school about Pasteurization and bacteria, Sarah was leery of trying the milk, but since Jareth refused to buy ordinary gallons of milk, she would just have to get used to it.

She'd learned a bit more about the other two hands and their wives, Dave and his wife being the steadiest pair. Quinn and his wife liked to chase rodeo during the warm summer months, but would be back at the ranch in late fall, if they weren't in the finals. Jareth was used to their footloose ways, and Dave was a strong enough and steady enough hand that the two of them could, and frequently had, taken care of the ranch themselves. It meant that some of the cosmetic things weren't taken care of, but the experience Dave brought with him and the temporary workers, like Sarah, that drifted through, made the work bearable. Dave had two children, too, who attended school in town. If they were snowed in, they attended by short-wave radio. Sarah thought that was a nice set-up, but snow days had been some of her favourites in school. Jareth had laughed, telling her snow months were not an option for modern students.

By the time Quinn left, she hoped that she would be able to do more and earn all of the money Jareth had already spent on her, however unknowingly. Rodeo was one of many things she had no experience with. Jareth had told her that a rodeo usually came to the county at the same time as the fair, leaving people to rodeo during the day and go to the fair at night. It was June 4th, a Tuesday, and the fair would come around in July. Sarah didn't doubt she'd still be at the Crown Drunk, so she was anticipating the events with more curiosity than excitement.

The work was exciting, in its way. She got to work with horses again, which was nice. The barn was a working barn, not a riding stable, so it was very different and, at the same time, very familiar. As afternoon wore on, Sarah finished with the horses and the stalls and started setting out the feed the way Jareth had instructed. He had left her to go work with Dave on something, and she knew it was getting late in the day. Jareth wanted her indoors by nightfall, at least until she knew her way around better. He'd gone over some of the most basic dangers on the ranch, dehydration and the major injuries numbering among the many. Sarah was not eager to experience any of the above, so she made an effort to finish up and look over the tack room. As it was, the sky was starting to turn with the colours of sunset when Sarah finished with the barn and headed to the house.

Sarah had just put her foot on the bottom step of the porch when a voice from the shadows said, "Use the brushes to clean off your boots." Sarah looked down at an odd little curved brush just off the porch. "Then run upstairs and shower." The familiar voice changed as Jareth rose from the bench where he'd been waiting for her to leave the barn. "Not bad timing," he complimented her. "Tomorrow, I'll start you off with lariat and whip, let you do a few little things in the barn to get used to the layout, and you'll start the heavy work after lunch." He watched as Sarah scraped her boots over the brushes, getting as dirt off them as she could. "No riding until Thursday."

"I get a day to recover?" she asked, limping up the stairs. Now that she was done working and the house was in sight, she realized exactly how much she hurt all over. If her legs ever closed again, she would be grateful. She doubted her knees would ever be the same.

"Only one," he said, holding the door for her. "Go on up and shower. I'll put dinner on."

"How long were you waiting?" Sarah asked, needing to know.

"About ten minutes. Good work, by the way."

"How would you know?" she asked, blinking. "You weren't there."

In response, Jareth chuckled. "It's only a crystal, Sarah, but if I turn it this way, I can scry almost anything."

Sarah groaned as she started up the steps, the familiar words both welcome and unwelcome. Then she stopped, realizing what he'd just said.

"Almost anything?" she asked, turning and narrowing her eyes at him.

"Yes," he replied, serious again. "And the answer is yes, I could, but I won't. You've told me everything that you needed to say, Sarah. I've no need to pry, and I would not dishonour you by looking into your past to shame you or watching you as you go about your nightly ablutions."

"I believe you," Sarah said, watching his eyes. "I should be pitching a fit, demanding some sort of promise, but I believe you." She thought for a minute. "I didn't think you would do any peeping, not once I took a second to think about it."

"Thank you," Jareth replied, appreciating her continued honesty and valuing her faith in him.

"You've never hurt me, Jareth," she answered him, shaking her head. "I'm not sure I can say the same."

Jareth didn't reply, saying only that she should go shower and change for dinner.

Without any more conversation, Sarah went into the bathroom and did just that, leaving Jareth to get dinner started.

Downstairs, Jareth used the time preparing dinner to consider what he could tell her about himself and his brother, the labyrinth, and how he had truly reacted to her four years ago. She had caught his attention, but he hadn't fallen in love with her, despite the book's words. She was enchanting, true, but far too innocent for him then. She was not nearly so innocent now, but she was wounded, and, more importantly, she was his employee and she trusted him enough to stay in the house with him without any sort of protection. He had spoken the truth, he did envy those men Sarah's lips, her sweet mouth, but he would not attempt to seduce her or accept her seduction of him--not that she was inclined to such actions. She was still too wounded from her past and her shame over surviving for him to consider her anything other than a new and trainable ranch hand.

A sad smile curled his lips as he chopped onions into small chunks. Even had she called, he and the others were prohibited from replying, for she had denied the king's power, and the king's subjects were not permitted what the king could not have--not even for a young woman in distress.

When Sarah came into the kitchen in another pair of jeans and a t-shirt, she helped him finish dinner, then sat back with a glass of tea and a roll. Dinner was on to cook, Jareth had already bathed and changed for dinner, and they had about an hour to kill before the food was ready.

"So," she asked, looking at him while she picked at the roll, "do I ask a bunch of questions, or just let you start talking?"

"I suppose I'll talk," Jareth replied, settling back in his chair and looking at her, pleased with her bluntness. Without further need for prompting, he started to tell the story of the Bar Crown K.

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	3. He Was a Lonely, Quiet Man

THAT SUMMER

**inspired by the song "That Summer" by Garth Brooks**

**Ch. 3 He Was a Lonely, Quiet Man**

**Disclaimer: **Neither the song "That Summer" nor the movie _Labyrinth_ are mine, and I make no money or other profit from my writing. Would I could and did, but I can't and I don't.

**Rating: M **for mature themes & sometimes explicit scenes including, but not limited to, death, drugs/alcohol, abuse, and sex. If you can't handle these things, leave now.

**A/N:** All of my ranching information up through the end of this chapter comes from a) historical accounts, not modern (one of the reasons Jareth keeps the older traditions alive!); b) what I don't remember/don't have time to research I make up; and c) any corrections to screw-ups is appreciated, but depending upon plot, there may not be any changes made. The story sometimes makes its own demands, and that's why fiction is so nice--I get to invent as I go. As of this chapter, I have a consultant who happens to know a great deal about Montana and ranches. Thank you, MosinM38 (hereafter Mosin or MM38)! Happy reading!

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

"Where to begin," Jareth mused, not making it a question. "I suppose I should start at the beginning: I was born. My parents were King Tarok and Queen Alizel of Labyrinthia, also called the Goblin King and Hag Queen. We are Fae, not fairy, but Fae, you do know the difference?" At Sarah's nod he continued. "My mother had a difficult pregnancy and the birthing nearly killed her. Fortunately, she fulfilled the requirement of an heir and a spare with one pregnancy. She was barren until her death about two centuries ago. As it is, I have an identical twin. Unfortunately, between her near death and the long labour that exhausted her and her attendants, no one knew which of us was firstborn.

"My brother, Gareth, and I have very carefully milked that all of our lives. From the first, people confused us. In fact," he grinned, "we are the only ones who know which of us is Gareth and which is Jareth. No, I'm not telling. Everyone has agreed I'm Jareth, so Jareth I remain--until it suits us otherwise." Sarah rolled her eyes and snickered.

"That sounds just like you," she said.

"Quite." Jareth flashed her a wicked smile. "From the time we were children and old enough to use magic--actually before that." He paused and thought. "I clearly remember communicating with Gareth while we were in the womb, so from before our birth to the present, we were determined to be absolutely identical. And we are.

"Every wound, every aspect of our personalities, even our fingerprints and DNA are identical. If I broke my arm, he broke his in the identical manner. Making identical injuries generally required magic, though there were times we could simply use physical means. When one of us," he grinned slyly, "got in a fight that changed our left eye permanently, the other did the same. I must admit, the one who was originally injured in that particular feat was better off. The pain wasn't so great. The second was extremely upset. Anyway, we have carefully remained identical.

"We were very careful to keep every accomplishment, from first steps to first words to later deeds and experiences, absolutely identical and simultaneous." He saw Sarah's look of disbelief. "I can see you don't understand how we managed this. Remember, we are not human and are not limited as human children are. We are empathic with others, but with each other, Gareth and I are telepathic. In some ways, we are one mind. I mentioned we were able to communicate while we were in the womb. Human twins have a form of communication in the womb as well, but there was a depth to our shared thoughts that must be attributed to the innate magic of the Fae.

"When we were about seventy, our parents abdicated for various reasons. Mother was dying and father was hell-bent on bonding his life to hers, so that he could share his allotment of years. In the end, they died within hours of one another, about six years after Gareth and I took over the kingdom. We ruled jointly, refusing every attempt of our subjects, our parents, the other nobles and kings to name one of us elder. For the first hundred years or so, we both saw to the duties of the Goblin King. We had no problem with it, but then the rumours started.

"Despite what you may have heard, some rumours are impossible to live down. Three hundred years ago, or thereabout, the rumour started that we didn't marry because we were in an incestuous relationship. That is far from the truth, but I don't suppose it helped that we were known to," he paused to gauge Sarah's expression and found it open, "share women. I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say there's little that is physically possible that the two of us haven't tried, excepting only the most vile and debauched of acts. To that end, we began looking Here Above. Underground, as we call home, isn't exactly under this earth. It's more…alongside it. Some say it's beyond the veil, and that's not far wrong. I digress.

"Here Above was in interesting times. There was unrest in the British Colonies, and we were curious as to the causes. One of us would come Here Above for a few years, learn what was going on, and then return. The other would take his place Here Above while he reigned and ruled. Our subjects settled down after that, since they were more worried about the succession than they were the morals of our supposed relationship. I fought with Washington in Valley Forge. My brother was at Concord, then Lexington. It was…exhilarating. Even though we fought against the idea of monarchy, it was wonderful--we learned much.

"Several of the ideals of the Revolution were implemented in our own kingdom, many of those from Jefferson's writings. We own originals of many of the writers, Payne, Franklin, Adams, Adams, Jefferson…fascinating reading. Amazing minds." He gave Sarah a penetrating look. "I don't believe you fully realize or appreciate what you have here, modern Americans. The incredible freedoms that exist here are nowhere else in the world. Journalists, free to distort the truth in whatever way they wish, without government sanction--or to even tell the absolute truth. Assembly, religion, speech…the freedom to build a business from your own sweat, without applying for a patron's intervention with the government, needing only the few licenses required by the state. A man who was born with nothing could become an industrial baron, a nobody from the back country could gain a law degree and later become the leader, elected by the people. Truly, for all the faults in this system of yours, it is amazing and beautifully free. The greatest irony is that the government is required to protect the rights of the people to complain and even sow dissent and ideals that create the desire to revolt against the government." He chuckled. "That, by the way, is not one of the ideals we brought back in its pure form. The responsibility of the throne is ours, and we _shall_ continue to hold it, even if our people aren't entirely thrilled by the idea.

"Again, I digress." He paused. "We first bought property here on the edges of the frontier--at the time it was in Kentucky. As the population expanded, we moved west, always seeking the frontier and learning to live without constantly using the magic that is innate to us. Fae can no more deny their magic than they can stop breathing and continue to live. We held a small homestead, then moved to a ranch in the early 1800s. We fought Santa Anna. We saw the Mexican Cession, which included Baja California, originally--scribe's error. We watched Texas begin to fill with more and more people. Somewhere around 1840, we sold our ranch in Texas and moved to Wyoming Territory. We stayed longer there, some sixty years, before moving here, to a place in Montana no one else actually wanted.

"The land isn't the best--in fact some portions are downright unusable for the cattle. We keep those for ourselves. The area is remote, even for Montana, and few people know of Memphis, much less my ranch. We sell the cattle, and we have an excellent reputation, but we practically never entertain buyers, and we're not the most sociable of ranchers. In short, more people know of me and my "father" than know me."

"So, Gareth pretended to be your father?" Sarah asked, a bit fuzzy on that point.

"More like we take turns pretending to be whatever part of the line is necessary. He was Garett, my "pappy". I was able to appear in town and around the ranch as needed, taking on a glamour that made me look like a child." He grinned wickedly. "It was so much fun. About every ten years, we switch, so I became "pappy" and Gareth ran around as a child. When the son left to take care of investments in the East, we just switched out "pappy"."

"How did you explain the sudden appearance of a two-year-old?" she asked.

"We didn't. There were plenty of women in our kingdom who were willing to have their baby Here Above and spend a year or so with us. After that, she "died" somehow and the baby, an illusion, was left for us to raise." He paused. "Actually, there was a wished away child that we were able to use until he was about two, after that the other one did the hell-raising and mischief-making."

Sarah shook her head, mind reeling. "So you're, what, five hundred years old?"

"Closer to six, mortal years. Fae years are a bit longer, putting me at about four hundred. Don't ask me for the conversions. The math gives me a headache." Jareth tipped his head to the side. "Any questions?"

"About a thousand," Sarah retorted, thinking. "Will I ever meet Gareth? I mean, while you're here?"

"Mm…no." Jareth pursed his lips. "I'm not inclined to share your company, Sarah. Not any time soon. Eventually, perhaps. In, say, two hundred years?"

"Great. 'Gareth, this is the rotted corpse of Sarah Williams…I may have mentioned her to you,'" Sarah did a mediocre impression of Jareth's crisp tones. "'Really, old boy,'" she continued, changing her voice just a bit for "Gareth", "'you should try for a live one. Much less…drippy.'"

Jareth laughed. "Minx."

"Is it difficult to live without working magic?" she asked.

"I don't." He took a breath and decided to answer honestly. "One of the reasons Memphis is so small is that my brother and I actively create and reinforce wards against the curious. You weren't curious about the town, so you slipped through. It's the same with the rest of the population--most of them ended up here without any intentions of staying. Those that want to leave find themselves forgetting about the place, relegating it to an okay job with okay pay, but nothing worth coming all the way back into the back of nowhere just to do it again."

"That didn't seem to work on Quinn," Sarah noted.

"A special case," Jareth sighed. "Gareth was feeling rather magnanimous, since Quinn's wife had just miscarried. The same day, they learned she will never carry to term. They ride rodeo, they come back. They do _not_ mention home or extol the benefits of working for the Kings."

"Cute surname, by the way. Jareth King, Rancher Goblin," she teased.

"Master Rancher Goblin, thank you," he sniffed, grinning at her smile. "And cowboy extraordinaire."

"Right. Can't forget the cowboy bit." She looked at him. "You were really there when the settlers moved West?"

"Yes," he replied, eyes growing distant with memory. "It was every bit as harrowing as the history books say, and in some ways worse. There are several things the books leave out. As pioneers, the people who were desperate enough to try the move were generally used to doing without. Not all, but most were. There was little, if any, regard to race because survival was paramount and prejudice was a sure way to die too quickly and…badly. There were entire towns made up of two tumble-down buildings and a dusty field where wagon trains and pack trains stopped. And then there was the wilderness itself." The expression in his eyes was soft, his voice wistful with memory and longing.

"Would you could have seen the unspoiled Plains, Sarah. There were buffalo everywhere, dotting the plain like pepper poured thick over rice. The grass was tall, tall enough to lose a man in, and the ground and sky seemed to stretch out forever. If you looked at the sky on a clear day, it could give you vertigo, you'd simply start spinning and swaying, swearing you were about to fall up into the blue."

Jareth's voice faded and Sarah just watched. It was clear how much he loved America and the West, simply by the way he spoke. He loved his kingdom, too, but it was her home that stirred him to poetry.

They were quiet for a time after that, Sarah letting the moments drift by without delving back into his past. Eventually, they began talking again, this time about being twins.

"Why be completely identical?" The idea of being completely like another person was strange to Sarah. She was used to people wanting to make themselves known, of being recognized as the one-and-only. This sounded like the pod people in a movie she'd watched a few years ago. Creepy.

"Neither of us wanted to be king. We were both princes, one destined to become the king, the other to sacrifice himself in a marriage of state. Do you know what a loveless marriage is like among long-lived people? We would marry for life, beget the obligatory children, most likely those children would be raised by nannies and tutors like my brother and I were, and then proceed to amuse ourselves with various liaisons and hardly ever see our spouses. The flip side is that we could not dare fall in love or even hold a great deal of affection for our liaisons lest our wives worry about being cast aside and murder our lovers. The one who was king, though, would forever be pressured and tormented by the affairs of state. You have no idea what it takes to be a king, Sarah, and for that, be grateful. There is beauty and wealth, but the responsibilities are neverending and the hours are pure hell. With all that I do on the ranch every day, it's less than I deal with as king."

"What if either of you want to marry?" She saw the look he gave her and added, "Not in a state marriage, but for friendship or affection."

"For love, you mean," Jareth sighed. "Not a novel idea, but honestl--"

"No, not love. Friendship." Sarah thought for a second. "My grandparents married because they were close friends and so did my dad's partner--he married his closest friend. The whole 'love match' philosophy didn't work for them. Nana and Pops were together for over forty years before they died, and Mr. Hughes and his wife have been together through well over thirty. They're…closer in a lot of ways than the people who insist they're 'in love'." She looked down. "Like my dad and his wives."

"Ah." Jareth thought for a long minute. "I honestly hadn't thought about that kind of relationship. So you've seen two cases of love-matches and two of friendship, and the friendship wears better through the years?"

"From what I've seen. Sure, they fight, but they've got something more than 'if you loved me' in their repertoire. They have to use things like logic and thought, not feelings." Sarah caught the tone of her voice. Bitter was a good word for it. "Then, I may be a bit biased," she admitted.

"I take it your father's marriages were not peaceful or even very close?"

"Or considerate, or thoughtful, or any number of things. It was all…passion and all of the passion became hurt feelings and resentment over the years. Toby was a last-ditch effort to keep the marriage going." Jareth could see what Sarah's opinion of that had been. "Given how long my parents were married before I was born, I'm pretty sure I'm here for the same reasons. You can see how well that turned out--for my parents, that is."

"I'm glad you added that last bit," Jareth said softly. "Otherwise, I'd make you sleep in the barn until you got it figured out. As for the marriage of friends, it's a good question. I'll have to hash that out with Gareth one of these days." He grinned at her. "We've been carefully avoiding marriage of any sort."

Sarah snorted. "I can't quite see you dodging behind each other when a pretty girl comes along."

"I won't go into the details of how we avoid marriage, just that we do." He and his brother were not exactly nice to marriage-minded women of any kind. Fae princesses and noblewomen generally received the most dastardly treatment, if only because they were the least able to take a hint. Goblins were easy to convince, as were elves. But the Fae… He suppressed a shudder. They reminded him of New York City professional women, or Hollywood actresses. Those were two places he would avoid for the rest of his extremely long life--one experience with the breeds had been enough. The lull in the conversation lasted for only a few minutes. They checked dinner, found nothing in danger of burning or ruining, and returned to the table.

"How can there be two kings ruling at the same time?" Sarah finally asked.

Jareth thought for a minute. "It's not so much that there are two of us ruling at the same time as it is there are two of us at all. Fae do not share power, not willingly. That my twin and I do is an aberration to others. The logistics are quite simple, though, and we do have that telepathic bond which is a great assistance." He grinned evilly. He did not go into details. "It's also useful when avoiding or seducing marriage-minded women." When Sarah gave him a look of disgust, he continued. "But I digress. At first, we would hear cases jointly, communicate with one another telepathically, and literally finish one another's sentences when we spoke." He gave her a wicked look. "Works wonders on diplomats who don't want to concede to our demands. Unnerving as hell for those who have committed capital crimes and are before us to judge. Now that we switch off, we don't both take the throne at the same time very often. You might say we reserve that particular set-up for special occasions."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "So you're basically playing a 400-year-old prank on everyone."

"Pretty much," he agreed, unrepentant.

"Boys," she muttered. When he gave her a dark look and a raised eyebrow. "Fine. Men." She thought for a minute about what she had seen of his kingdom. "Is the labyrinth take up the entire kingdom?"

"No, but it is a large part of the southern lands. The rest of the kingdom is quite normal. We have mountains to the east, bordering Elvenhaim and Hammergelde, the Elf and Dwarf kingdoms. One of the best accesses through those mountains happens to be ours, so we've a brisk trade through the mountain passes. There's a nice harbour in our northern section, though the seas outside the bay are brutal in winter--large amounts of trade come through our ports to go west and south. Lucrative little enteprise, shipping, and we have a varied population and culture because of it. The down side is that a certain kingdom to our northeast would love to take our access to those waters away from us, leaving them with a complete monopoly on the ocean and us landlocked. As for the usual mixing and matching that comes with port cities and trade-rich countries, we inhabit something of a crossroad between regions. Goblins are a huge part of the population, but you can find every other race from the Underground, and even Here Above, in our kingdom.

"To the west, there are several kingdoms before coming to the Risen Sea, a fairly new ocean that covered a very large part of the Ecliuan landmass. Destroyed a beautiful land, too, but the Rhiol landmass, where my country is, had a cliff-side beach, not a nice, flat plain. It took over 200 years, so the affected population was able to move and take their treasures with them." He scratched his chin where a faint blonde shadow grew. "Come to think of it, we've got several of those treasures in our own country, some in our royal vaults. The price of admission, as it were."

"That's cruel, Jareth," Sarah accused. Jareth did not respond immediately. Sarah's judgment was based upon what she knew: Refugees from a rising ocean were forced to give up their treasures and national pride for a new home. With that, even he would find it difficult to accept as a good trade. Knowing what even little children knew of the people involved, though, he realized he would have to set the record straight with this woman-child.

"No, it's necessary. These people were not our allies or even remotely friendly. To anyone. They came to the western lands and to other countries in the higher areas of the Ecliuan continent and, had we not insisted upon small sections of the population only and the surrender of some of their most revered treasures in exchange for safehaven, they would have begun a systematic takeover of the countries that hosted them. No king worth his title will sacrifice his people unnecessarily, not to a culture as casually vicious as that one. As it stands, they are forced to obey the laws of their hosting countries, their more vile practices are curbed and regulated by guilds suited to such, and none of them may hold offices higher than clerk. Not all races in the Underground are kind or beautiful or simply mischievous. Some take great delight in the maiming and torture of innocents, of children, of slaves taken in raids…of one another." Jareth's voice was grim. "This happened during my reign, Sarah, and I will not now or ever regret the demands I made of those who came to Koboldvolksland." The finality of the statement warned Sarah to leave the subject alone. He was not receptive to the line of questioning, and she was rather ignorant of the Underground. It would be best to learn more, first. She returned to the one section she had known and that had changed her life.

"Why was the labyrinth created?" she asked, switching focus again.

"That's a question that could take weeks and many theories to answer," he replied, choosing his words carefully. "I'll give you the short version, leaving out the theories and academic ramblings for now. If you really want to know more, I can have Gareth send me copies of the books from our library. For now, though, suffice to say that the labyrinth began as a way of determining worth of subjects who wanted to become more than what they were born to--especially adventurers and scholars. Then, as it grew in responsiveness and innate…power is not the right word. The labyrinth is not a power or a mage or any sort. It simply _is_. Strength is a better word, but it does not accurately reflect the sensitivity to those who traverse the labyrinth--"

Sarah cleared her throat, trying not to laugh as Jareth unintentionally began a discourse on the nature of the labyrinth. He caught himself and grimaced.

"Right. As it grew in responsiveness and strength, it was used to determine guilt or innocence of a particular crime. The Hall of Illusions was one of those things that reflected truth back to the person, playing on the conscience. Darker and more brutal sections of the labyrinth came into being over time, so it was also used to punish the guilty." He took a deep breath and sighed. "Goblins have always collected the unwanted human children from some areas of your world, though not as many as they do now. At first, the stories were tribal, told through the old traditions and people still remembered the Fae walking among them; they were wary. Still, the words would be said, usually for an orphan or a child taken in a raid who refused to cooperate with his captors. Some, not all, wanted to get the child back. The labyrinth was used then to challenge the unwise wisher, though it wasn't until people Here Above began telling the tale of the Goblin King in a more formalized manner and the goblins became a threat for misbehaving children, like in the poem 'Little Orphan Annie', that the calls became frequent. Between the poems and the book of the labyrinth, our grand puzzle became _the_ challenge for the one who wished the child away to amend his error. We get more children than you would believe, Sarah," Jareth said, his expression guarded. That anyone would have an unwanted child was beyond him.

"His?" Sarah asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Masculine as gender neutral, non-specific singular." He raised his eyebrows. "Why, did you want me to use 'their'? Or perhaps you prefer 'it'?"

Sarah just shook her head and sighed. She knew it was grammatically correct, but he apparently didn't get the joke. She tackled the next part of that statement that she hadn't understood. "You said it was used to challenge the wisher initially. What's the difference between then and now?" She thought the labyrinth had been a challenge.

"The wisher would be placed in a section of the labyrinth and given a challenge. Sometimes it was simple, sometimes more complex." His face grew remote. "More than once…fallen women who were…hardened in their profession--" He was trying to phrase this delicately.

"Prostitutes?" Sarah interrupted for clarification.

"In the oldest and worst sense," he confirmed. "More than once, those women were sent to the satyrs. Even if they wanted the child, the distraction of their calling, the possibility of money, was too great a temptation. Rather than see the children return to the Here Above with them and most likely be whored out themselves--too young and with no regard to gender, I might add--the women were tempted so deeply that none have ever succeeded in besting the challenge. The children were placed in good and loving homes, raised in love and firm, gentle discipline. As for the women, well, they were treated better, in better health, and still plied their trade on a regular and much-appreciated basis. None have ever asked to leave, and, being humans moved Underground, they have lived a long, long time."

"You give women to the satyrs?" Sarah asked, blinking. "Aren't those the ones that are half man-half goat and always, um, interested?"

"Yes, but the population is quite small. They aren't very fertile, and most of the children they do manage to sire are female. Not to worry. Neither they nor the mothers are interested in keeping a girl-child around. The satyrs don't want the distraction of a little female and the women don't want the competition for attention. The rare son is much doted upon."

"That's…" she was going to say 'unfair', but what was the point?

"Strange? Perhaps. Necessary? No. A good idea anyway? Absolutely. You see, the satyrs are not exactly the most discriminating. Once the girl became of age, not the chronological timestamp that humans Here Above use, but physically of age, any satyr would want her, and one would have her. It is best to remove the possibility of temptation from these particular denizens of my realm than to destroy lives and minds with the inevitable result. As it is, satyrs are magical creatures, so the girls are human magic-users. They are precious to the realm, and many of those girls have gone on to live incredibly successful lives. Granted, many of them become courtesans, but they could never be confused with their whore mothers." Sarah blinked at his blunt description of the women who had given birth to the children. "It wasn't an insult. The difference between a whore and a courtesan is the same one between roadkill and a fine filet mignon prepared by a master chef. There is no comparison. The girls are educated, treated well, offered the tests of aptitude every child in the realm takes. Most tend to the sensual arts. Perhaps it is in their blood," he mused. "Even those who are not in the Guild of the Courtesans are known for their sensuality and voracious appetites." Jareth pursed his memory. "In their own way, the female offspring of satyr and human woman are a form of satyr themselves, though without the hooves.

"As for the mothers, well," Jareth grimaced, "it's a rather predictable life, but the familiar has its own…charm. The satyrs use their women constantly, and the women endure the attentions of their satyr. In all fairness, I must admit that the women do not seem to resent those attentions, instead revelling and boasting of their buck's endurance and skill. The satyrs also tend to have a stable of ladies, so no single woman is overburdened. I really must study the satyrs one day. I hadn't realized how little I knew about them. Ah, well. When the satyrs leave the Glade, be it for business or personal pleasure, the women go with him and keep him happy. It may seem like a brutal continuation of their lives Here Above, but, I assure you, it is not. In the Underground, the women, no matter how scarred and abused in live Here Above, are healed, beautifully appointed, and quite adored. Satyrs may be some of the original sex-fiends, but they do seem to know how to keep their women happy to serve their needs."

Sarah looked mildly sick. "What about the old stories, like 'The Rape of the Sabine Women'?"

"Distant history. The satyr population has dwindled a good bit since then, and they have willing partners now. Access to human women is limited, and since the Sabine Incident, those who are sent to the Satyrs' Grove are either whores who challenged for a child or women who seek out the satyrs on their own. They may be a, what is that hippie term that Gareth found so entertaining?" He paused, thinking. "Ah, yes, they may be a 'free-love' society, but they do have other useful skills."

"Like what?" Sarah challenged.

"They keep the orchards running smoothly and producing. Better managers for the groves you will not find. Several satyrs create tradegoods, especially musical instruments. The women are also eager to help, since it means they can get back to the sex more quickly when the work is finished." Jareth shrugged, seeing Sarah's look of disbelief. "There is more in Heaven and earth, Horatio," he murmured.

"What?" Sarah asked, blankly. She'd heard something like that before, but she couldn't place it.

"_Hamlet_. Hamlet's father, rather his ghost, appears to Hamlet's friends during a night watch. When they tell Hamlet, he tells them to welcome the ghost, that there are more things in Heaven and earth than are in their precious philosophies." Jareth tipped his head to the side, curious. "Did you not learn Shakespeare in your school? He is required reading for our young adults."

"We read _Romeo and Juliet, The Tempest, A Midsummer Night's Dream, MacBeth, _and_ Othello._ We didn't have time for the others." Sarah grinned. "Actually, were only supposed to read _Romeo & Juliet_ and _MacBeth_. We finished the entire syllabus before the end of school so the last nine weeks she spent on the other plays. It was a blast."

Jareth watched her as she thought about one of the more pleasant times she had in the last three years. The light in her eyes and the soft glow that seemed to surround her made him smile nostalgically. He left her to the memories for a bit and checked dinner again. They had about twenty minutes before they would eat. When he returned to his seat, Sarah had another question for him.

"You said you were 600 or so. Did you get to see Shakespeare at the Globe?" she asked, eager to hear the answer.

"Yes," he grinned at her excitement. "And Marlowe. I got to talk with Spenser and Swift and More." His eyes glowed with pleasure at the memories. "Now there was a man!"

"Sir Thomas More?" Sarah asked, flipping through the names her history teachers had pounded into her head. "The one who defied Henry VIII and wrote _Utopia_?"

"Oh, he was much more than that…he insisted his children, male and female, be taught properly. He was one of the first, if not the first, to advance humanism. He was a man of principle the like of which is rarely seen in any time or land." Jareth closed his eyes, remembering and sorrowing over a death greatly undeserved. "And he is remembered for a single act of defiance and a book that is poorly understood by fanatical politicians and used to present failed social philosophies and theories to the masses. His philosophy was so much deeper, so much more intense and beautiful, than that. A brutal memory for a man I was honoured to call friend."

Sarah was silent, vowing to read _Utopia_ and any other writings she could find about or by More. Anyone who could evoke that kind of a response in a 600-year-old self-professed scholar, king, jade, and jerk had to be incredible. "I heard a lot about his book, but I've never seen a copy. It was banned from our school library three years before I got there."

"I have several of his writings in my library." He chuckled at her startled look. "What, you think books weren't brought West? We had to have books, to learn to entertain, to consider. Quality became the watchword, not quantity. I have," he mused, thinking over his collection, "one of the largest original and old-print libraries in the country. The most recent book that is not directly related to ranching and ranch-requirements like mechanics, is…over 100 years old. Airstotle, Plato, Shakespeare, More, Swift, Voltaire--all of the greats." He chuckled again at her wide eyes. "And we would lend out the books, too. Go look at the names written in the front covers." He grinned wickedly. "Some of them you might even recognize."

"I never imagined…there are so many things we weren't taught in school…" her voice trailed off.

"Mm, don't get me started on that," he murmured. "There are many untrue things written in your textbooks, but the victor does write the history. It is up to the losing side to keep their records safe, alive, and accessible for those who are curious later. Not now," he admonished, gently turning her attention back to the subject they were supposed to be discussing. "We'll have plenty of time for these debates later." Sarah nodded and bit her lip, trying to come up with something else she wanted to know about him.

"Did I hurt you, I mean, when I turned down your offer?" she blurted. Immediately afterward, she cringed. That was not what she had meant to ask.

Jareth answered honestly, if a bit brusquely. "No, because the story was not true, Sarah. I was not in love with you, nor did I give you any particular powers. You wished Toby away, I took him; the fact that everything followed the book was as I told you earlier--your innocence. The ending, too, was what you needed and expected." He grimaced. "Had you taken me up on the offer, damned if I know what I'd've done with you."

"Wow, you know how to break it to a girl gently, big J," she replied, grimacing. "Please, don't spare the ego."

Jareth's lips twitched. "Are you sure you want me to be that brutally honest?"

"I'm quite sure I do not," she replied, mocking his ever-so-proper accent. He grinned at her imitation, the look in his eyes one she did not trust, and she changed the subject quickly. "So…just what did happen the first time you tried to ride in a Western saddle?"

Jareth recognized her tactic and laughed heartily. Then he told her the story she requested.

"We were fresh from Kentucky, heading into Texas. The packsaddle we had--my brother and I made this trip together, just for the fun of it--broke at the end of our journey. That was fine, since we had located the area we were going to homestead. We started working on the foundations for the house and got everything together in a decent amount of time. Then, we bought stock and began hiring hands.

"The first hand we hired used a Mexican saddle, one of the names of the early Western style. Gareth refused to believe it was possible that the man had ridden from south of the river to our place with a horn brushing his belly. The vaquero laughed and invited him to try it. He mounted the horse as offered and began to ride in the fashion we had learned. Rather, he tried.

"Walking the horse, he tried the turn. Gareth stuck one leg out and tugged on the rein. The horse stopped, turned around and gave him this _look_. I swear I could read the horse's thoughts, and they were not complimentary. The next second, the horse's hooves were in the air and Gareth was on the ground. Staring up at the sky. He got up, cursing more creatively than I'd heard in months, and mounted again. Again, he tried a turn and ended up on the ground.

"The vaquero was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. I admit I was in about the same shape. Gareth dragged the horse back over to me, handed me the rein, and challenged me to do better." Jareth's lips twitched at the memory. "I didn't. In fact, I was stupid enough to do the same thing, only I was moving at a canter."

Sarah's attempt to keep from laughing failed miserably. She could just imagine the smooth, confident man in front of her flying ass over teakettle through the air, a horse giving him a dirty look, as if to say the best man had won.

"Mm," Jareth's soft laughter joined hers. "What could we do? Punish the horse? The vaquero said he wouldn't mention what happened so long as we 'learned to ride like real men' while he worked for us. We agreed, though I don't believe our original mounts forgave us for changing so much of their known world. From hills to plains, from rainy springs to dry summers, those horses endured well."

"What were their names?" Sarah asked.

"You know," he mused, "I don't think we ever named them. They were simply our horses." He grinned at her. "But we did learn to ride the Western style, and I must say it's much more relaxed." He remembered the long hours on the thin pad he'd first used as a saddle. "And more comfortable for distance."

"I noticed your saddle is different. Why does the saddle horn look strange?" She thought about the saddle she had seen him using earlier in the day.

"Probably because it's brass," he replied. "All saddle horns can cause injuries, but most are wood covered in leather. They'll break, not easily, but they will. The brass can be…dangerous." Sarah blinked at him and he continued. "It's also an almost perfect replica of the saddle I first had in Texas. Probably the most comfortable saddle I've ever used. The more modern ones, like the one you used today, are a poor fit for me."

"Let me guess, you also prefer wooden benches and covered wagons to couches and cars?" Sarah asked sarcastically.

"Not hardly," Jareth retorted. "I do appreciate the old fashioned, speaks-only-when-spoken-to woman, though--sometimes more than others."

Sarah stuck her tongue out at him and, before he could say anything else, asked, "How do you justify the risks you take on the ranch when you have a kingdom to run and no heirs?"

"What makes you think kings don't take risks?" he returned, bemused. Cut and run, would she? Wouldn't last long. "Every day I live I run the risk of assassination, kidnapping and torture, injury in battle--yes, we do have wars in the Underground--and the every popular heart attack, traitorous or treasonous attack, and accidental, life-ending injury. There are a host of other possibilities, too." He shrugged. "I consider ranching much less dangerous, all things considered."

Sarah mulled that over. "You mentioned marriage of state and other countries. A lot of our stories have dwarves, elves, Fae, and so on in them, but we also have a High King in our stories, like in _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. Is there a High King of the Fae?"

Jareth nodded, accepting the question. "Yes and no. Yes, we have a high king, but we are not obligated to actually obey him. He's rather like the last diplomatic effort before we go to war. We do have war, you know, and I would surmise that it is no less horrible than the wars Here Above. The means of destruction differ, of course, but death comes to all."

"War? How can you afford war?"

"The same way every country does," he replied dryly. "It's not a matter of cost of going to war, it's the cost of _not_ going to war that must be counted dearest. 'What do we gain' is frequently less a point of consideration than 'what do we risk losing, possibly forever?'"

"That's not what I meant," Sarah clarified. "I meant, Fae have a hard time reproducing, don't they?" Sarah frowned, not sure where this was going. "I mean, long lives makes for rare births, doesn't it? How else do you control the population?"

Jareth snorted. Of all the cockamamie ideas…

"Reproduction is easy, much as it is for humans. Some combinations are bad, some are ideal; some women cannot carry to term, others are rather like two-legged rabbits." He shrugged. "We are more responsible overall because we do have magic and long lives, but there is no racial or species difficulty in getting children. I think that humans created that little myth to feel some sort of superiority--and we almost never let outsiders see our Fae children. Other races do not hide their young, but Fae children are precocious." He grimaced, remembering the specially made rooms he and his brother had inhabited for years. "And dangerous. Our magic is fully present from birth." Sarah winced. "Exactly. The terrible twos are truly horrifying in a Fae household. And the teen years--hell on earth. Sometimes on wheels, since we are magical. We have the ability to bring dreams to fruition, so our nightmares are horrifying. Children must live in specially bespelled rooms that prevent such realities from forming and alert adults so that they can take control of the dream. As we get older, become more aware of the world around us, the night duties are lightened, but we must remain in those rooms even as teenagers." His voice grew grim. "Especially as teenagers." He paused. "Have you ever experienced a dream you could not control?"

"Only a few times," she said, blushing. She did not mention that she had recently returned from the labyrinth and had been more than a bit fixated on him and his mouth. The dreams she'd had…

"That happens to Fae children frequently, until we are always aware of our magic and our dreams. The lessons are not much fun," he sighed. When he got up, Sarah realized he did not want to continue this particular part of their conversation. He checked the dinner while Sarah thought about what he'd told her. "Everything's ready," he said. "Get the plates and silver."

Sarah got up and put the plates next to the stove as Jareth turned off the burners and pulled the chicken from the oven.

"Chicken?" she asked. She had expected steak.

"I had to use it or let it go bad," he replied. "_Coq au vin_, not a bad dinner."

"I was picturing steak," Sarah admitted.

"Baked?" Jareth looked horrified. "Bite your tongue, woman! Baking steak should only be done with roasts or when absolutely necessary to stave off starvation. Otherwise, grill, boil in stew, or fry only, depending on the cut. Baked steak, indeed!"

Sarah apologized for her mistake, trying not to giggle at his reaction to her unintentional insult. With plates filled and the table waiting, they sat down to eat. Conversation was practically nonexistent, the only words being requests for salt, pepper, another napkin, or more sweet tea, a beverage Jareth had discovered during a visit to the South. It was love at first sugary-sweet sip. Sweet tea was new to Sarah, who was used to the unsweet tea or hot tea served in her home far north of the origin of sweet tea. She guzzled it like nectar.

After dinner, the phone rang. Jareth got up and answered it, talking softly to the person on the other end of the line. It was a short conversation, and when it was over, he returned to the table. Before he told Sarah anything about the conversation, he picked up their plates and took them to the sink. For a little thing, Sarah could pack away some serious grub. Her plate had been piled high and it was almost empty. He scraped the remnants of her dinner into a dish that held the last bits of breakfast and rinsed the plates before putting them in the dishwasher. He hated washing dishes, so the little luxury was more than worth it. Inspiration struck.

"You get to do the dishes and laundry," he said, returning to sit down. "Pie?" he asked, looking at the cherry-apple delight that Dave's wife had brought by earlier in the day. Coffee sounded awfully good, too.

Sarah bit her lip. She had eaten a lot, but she had been underweight for months. Her hipbones were sharp under her skin, and her ribs showed faintly. She'd gone far too long without regular meals, using cleverness and hydration to stave off hunger. Nothing was a substituted for real food, though. Good as this food was, she was burning through it just as quickly as she had the light, snacky meals she'd subsisted upon these last few months. Everything she'd had during the day was long gone from the effort she'd spent throughout her relatively easy day. Finally, she nodded.

"Worried about your weight?" Jareth teased.

"More like worried about fitting in these jeans again tomorrow," she replied, oddly serious. "I lost a lot of weight, Jareth, and I couldn't really afford to."

He nodded, then cut and served the pie. It wasn't something he discussed, but he'd experienced lean times, too. Various wars in both worlds, homesteading Here Above, and the trail were never places of plenty for a man. Coffee was always available, a huge urn was kept filled at the ranch house throughout the day. This time of night, though, it was the best--thick and black with enough kick to stun a mule. "Cream?" he asked.

"Please." Sarah watched as he poured cream over the pie, leaving her coffee black. "Um, in the coffee, too?" she pointed out as nicely as she could.

"Right," he said, pursing his lips. "Whatever did the coffee do to you that you would treat it so poorly?"

"I like cream in my coffee," she replied. "Does there have to be a reason?"

"Yes."

Sarah laughed at his matter-of-fact tone. "Well, there's not. I just like it." Forking up cream-covered pie, Sarah took the first bite. She moaned as the sweetness of the apples and the tartness of the cherries mingled with the sweet, heavy cream and buttery crust. "Oh, I'm in love," she sighed.

"With a pie?" Jareth asked, chuckling at her.

Sarah didn't respond. Her eyes were closed as she slowly chewed the first bite, then swallowed. "It may not last," she sighed, staring at the pie with an expression that made Jareth slightly uncomfortable, "but I'll love this pie as long as it's here."

Jareth shook his head, still chortling a bit as he ate his much larger slice. Sarah's slow bites and blissful sighs and groans were mildly obscene.

"I take it there were few sweets in your life the past year," he observed, trying to ignore her unexpected exhibitionist streak.

"Practically none," she sighed, licking a crumb from her fork. She carefully separated another bite from the thin wedge she'd been given. "I want this with breakfast tomorrow, too," she said before popping the next bite in her mouth and rolling her eyes in delight.

"Well over half is left right now," he responded, trying not to comment upon her reaction to the dessert. Finally, he couldn't stand it. "Shall I leave you two alone?"

"Huh?" Sarah looked up at him, startled.

"Between the look on your face and the noises you're making, I thought you'd like to be alone with the pie," he explained dryly. "I've seen less erotic sex shows."

"You watch sex shows?" she asked, the complaint passing over her head and off into the distance.

Jareth sighed. The point had been entirely missed. "Never mind. Eat."

"Well?" she demanded, staring at him and momentarily forgetting her pie.

Jareth had finished his slice and snaked her plate out from under her, grinning wickedly as he realized how effectively he'd derailed her concentration. After taking a bite of her pie--it was rather good with the cream, too--he nodded.

"Of course. You haven't?" He took another bite of the pie.

Sarah shook her head, then realized her pie had been stolen.

"Thief!" she yelped, reaching for her plate. "Pie thief! Stealer of pie! Give that back!"

Jareth pulled the plate out of her reach and laughed. "Too late. Finders, keepers," he taunted.

"Finder's butt is going to get kicked if he doesn't _give me back my pie_!" Sarah growled.

"Threats of violence, accusations of theft--you wished the pie away," he said between bites, the sudden inspiration nearly making him choke.

"Thief and liar," she retorted, jumping out of her chair to reach her plate. She was not prepared for her entire lower body to seize in a series of cramps. Her hips ached, her thighs and calves bunched and tightened--even her ankles stopped working properly. Sarah dropped to the floor with a cry of pain, curling up on her side.

"Sarah?" Jareth asked, suddenly concerned. He'd forgotten how much work she'd done and how foreign the physical demands of riding and ranch work were to her. She'd been obviously sore when she came in tonight, but after her shower, she'd seemed fine. He cursed himself for forgetting her human physiology and frailty. "Where does it hurt?"

"Legs," she gasped. "Lower back. Hips." Tears were slipping from her eyes. She felt pain and an odd sense of embarrassment. After such a good day, _this_ happens.

"Can you straighten your legs?" he asked, crouching down beside her. Sarah tried her left leg, which straightened but still ached at her hip and thigh and knee; however, her right leg did not want to uncurl.

"Let me help," Jareth said, reaching for her right leg and gently pulling it toward him, his other hand working the cramping calf muscle. Sarah whimpered, but slowly the muscle relaxed. Jareth worked on her thigh then, his touch firm and medicinal, until she was able to sit up and stretch out her legs in front of her.

"That's never happened before," she muttered, mentally cursing her lower half for betraying her.

"You've not done this kind of work before," Jareth replied, watching her. Nor had she been malnourished when she did. She winced as she bent her back. He moved behind her and started burrowing his knuckles into the long muscles at the small of her back. Sarah hissed as the pressure drove spikes of pain up and down her spine, but in a few minutes, she felt surprisingly well. The cramping was gone and her legs felt something like a combination between jelly and a mild ache.

"Thanks," she whispered as he finished and stood, holding out a hand to help her up. This time, Sarah found she could stand without her legs rebelling against her. "Maybe I'll soak for a while before bed."

"Good idea. Epsom salts are in there," he pointed to a small cubby off the kitchen where the washer and dryer sat, medical supplies stored on the opposite side from the appliances, the low heat of the dryer not enough to reach across the space. "Follow instructions as written on the package." He didn't apologize for the teasing or stealing her pie. She hadn't expected him to.

"Epsom salts, follow directions, soak in hot water," Sarah mumbled. "Got it."

"Doc was on the phone," Jareth said, abruptly changing the subject. It seemed like the appropriate time to bring up the local medicine man. "He'll be here in the morning after breakfast. You can use your room, if you'd like."

Sarah nodded, the good mood of the evening evaporating with the reminder that she was to be thoroughly checked over. She had always hated physical examinations, even more now that she was older.

"You don't need to worry about Doc," Jareth said, reading her expression easily. "He's older than some dirt up here. He delivered the child everyone thinks was me, before he was wished away and the mother left town. He took care of the young man version of Gareth--don't be surprised if you hear him talk about my 'pappy' and call him 'Garth'. He's the old-fashioned family doctor who keeps up with modern medicine. He could have made a fortune in a big city, but he swears he's happiest here, away from everything."

"All right," Sarah said, shaking the dread off. "I trust your judgement."

"If it helps," Jareth told her, "I gave him a brief overview of your past." Sarah winced. "He's seen worse, heard worse, and dealt with the effects of worse. If I didn't trust him, Sarah, I'd drag you Underground and have my healer look you over there. As it is, I think you'll like Doc better."

"What's his name--other than Doc?"

"He'll tell you tomorrow. He'd never forgive me if I said anything, and that would be tantamount to suicide." He thought for a second. "Well, to severe pain anyway. I don't think he'd let me bleed to death. Would you like his nurse to come, too?" The question was a kindness Sarah hadn't expected.

"No," she replied after a moment's thought. "Telling my story to one person at a time is bad enough. I don't want to add anyone else."

Jareth nodded and watched her turn and walk slowly to the salts in the cubby. Then he turned his attention back to cleaning up the kitchen. He packed away left-overs, he and Sarah would have them for lunch, and put the scraps into the scrap-bucket he kept for Tommy's hogs. Tommy, a slightly addled man who lived in town, kept a small pig farm and welcomed the scraps the people in town kept for him. He sold the pigs for bacon and the like, making a decent living. It was a very small operation, though, and he was fortunate to have a loving family nearby.

Sarah slowly made her way upstairs, clutching the bath salts like a lifeline. Inside the bathroom, she drew a piping hot bath and poured in the required amount of salts. She managed to get her feet in the near-scalding water and worked up to her knees when she heard Jareth's footsteps on the stairs.

"Goodnight, Sarah," he called through the wooden door.

"G'night, Jareth," she called back, feeling the aches of the day leaving her lower legs and feet. Hot water was always a good thing.

She heard the door of Jareth's room open and close and mulled over the things she'd learned about Jareth. She slipped her lower thighs into the water and hissed. Very, very hot…but, oh, so good!

A twin. Wasn't one Jareth enough for two worlds?

Some of the things he'd said about the labyrinth…it no longer seemed the slightly dangerous, mostly adventurous place she'd visited. The thought of meeting the satyrs made her shudder. She wanted to learn more about his kingdom, what had he called it? Koboldvolksland? Volk was folk, that much she remembered from her European history class, so volksland was "folk's land". That left Kobold. She'd seen that in some of her fairy tale books… Wait, wasn't that what Germans called goblins? His country was called Goblin Folk's Land--or Land of the Goblin Folk? What an odd name.

Wait, why was a Fae king of the goblins? She hadn't asked that and was determined to do so at breakfast. She had slipped completely into the hot water now, and the ache was leaving her in favour of the stinging of too-hot water. It may turn her bright red, it may sting to move, but the heat felt so good on her muscles and joints that she fell asleep and didn't wake until the water had cooled completely.

In his rooms, worried about the lack of noise from Sarah's rooms, Jareth summoned a crystal. He smiled as he saw her in the big tub, eyes closed and drifting off to sleep. He whispered a spell of safety so she wouldn't slip under the water and come to harm. Tossing the crystal into the air, he smiled.

The promise she'd shown under that oversized shirt had more than been fulfilled. Now he just had to get her healthy again before he turned her loose on the male population. He would enjoy watching the men who met her trip over their tongues and grow flustered at her complete lack of interest in dating and mating. He couldn't stop the evil grin.

Maybe he _would_ let her meet Gareth, after all.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	4. Hellbent to Make It

THAT SUMMER

**inspired by the song "That Summer" by Garth Brooks**

**Ch. 4 Hell-bent to Make It **

**Disclaimer: **Neither the song "That Summer" nor the movie _Labyrinth_ are mine, and I make no money or other profit from my writing. Would I could and did, but I can't and I don't.

**Rating: M **for mature themes & sometimes explicit scenes including, but not limited to, death, drugs/alcohol, abuse, and sex. If you can't handle these things, leave now.

**A/N:** Medical information herein is, at best, half-assed researched. Information re: native tribes also half-assed researched. Basically, I made sure I didn't have the wrong groups in the area and that whatever medical information is used won't kill Sarah off immediately. The specifics are left vague and I meant to do that. I'm not going to try and rewrite a cultural history or medical reality here. This is fiction. I'm just trying not to screw up completely with the most basic elements of the story.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Sarah woke up when her alarm went off. She was a little sore, but nothing horrible. She stumbled out of bed and showered, taking the time to change into jeans and a comfortable shirt. Again, she didn't put on her shoes. Jareth had mentioned Doc coming in early, so she thought she'd be working after the old man had come and gone.

Downstairs, she met Jareth in the kitchen. They finished making breakfast together, and, next to the small mountain of breakfast food, was a warm wedge of pie smothered in cream.

"A peace offering," Jareth said when she looked over at him. "Since you couldn't fight for your pie last night, I figured I could allow you one piece without a struggle. The rest of it, however, you will have to defend."

"Thanks for the warning," she grinned at him. "Pie thief." Before Jareth could respond, she asked, "So how did one of the Fae get control over the land of goblins?"

"It's a long story," Jareth said between bites. "A very, very long, dull, political story. I'll send you the six volumes that cover the details, but, in short, the goblins asked for help and they got it. They asked the Fae, which meant they got the Fae idea of help. In this case, it was taking over." He took a long drink of coffee. "Once Fae get power, they don't leave. Ever. Even with a fight."

"Then my refusal to accept your power…" Sarah's voice trailed off as she worked through the implications.

"Was very annoying, but, because of your belief in your words, absolutely true." He waited to see if she would ask about her friends. He would be left wondering, because just as she opened her mouth to say something, a voice from the yard echoed through the house.

"Well, boy, I hope you have breakfast for an old man!" rang in the kitchen. The window was closed.

"Is that--?" Sarah's surprise was obvious, but Jareth didn't bother commenting on it.

"Yep." Jareth got up and went to the window. He threw it open and called to Doc. "Come on in, you old mooch. We got plenty waitin' for you."

A low laugh rumbled through the open window, and the door opened a minute later.

"Good to see you back here, Jay-bird. How was the big city?" The voice carried through the open entryway and into the kitchen, but Sarah couldn't imagine the face to match it. The voice was big, rich, and slightly flat, with an accent she couldn't place. It was nothing like Gracie's nasal tones or Jareth's curiously British accent, but she knew it from somewhere.

"Oh, the usual," Jareth replied airily. "Crowded, dirty, and filled with people. You'd hate it."

"Most likely. Now, where's the grub?" The men stayed away from the kitchen doorway, and Sarah didn't want to get up to go meet this doctor. She wanted to run upstairs and hide under her bed, but that was completely unacceptable behaviour in a woman who had been on her own for over a year. Who was still on her own, even if she had managed a softer landing this time, figuratively speaking. Instead of letting herself run away, she worked on her breakfast, forcing another bite into her mouth and waiting until the men came around the corner.

"Out in the hayloft," Jareth deadpanned. "Your oats are in a bucket."

"Heh. Only place they would be, at my age. If there are any left," he gave the younger man a wicked grin. "Sowed as many as I could. I think I sowed 'em all."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Jareth murmured. "Please, come meet Sarah," he said, changing the topic.

Sarah looked up as the men walked into the kitchen and blinked. The Doc a wizened little old country doctor with a Colonel Sanders face on a slender, black-suited body, had been difficult to reconcile with the deep, booming voice that had come through the yard. The Doc in front of her looked nothing like her expectations. To begin with, he was Indian--Native American in the politically correct parlance she'd heard in school. His long, braided hair was mostly white, but his eyes were bright black and hidden among a nest of wrinkles earned from long hours in wind and weather. He wore jeans, boots, and a faded snap-front shirt and carried a beat-up leather satchel that was beautifully beaded with bright symbols Sarah recognized, but didn't understand.

"You must be Sarah," Doc said, his voice much softer and gentler with her. She'd heard the same voice used with skittish horses in the stables back home. When he spoke quietly, the soft accent strangely comforted Sarah. Either the accent or the voice worked its magic on her, and the tension she'd held in all morning flowed out of her. "I'm Doc. My full name is long, drawn out, and unpronounceable for you--"

"I can pronounce it quite well," Jareth interrupted.

"--Most of you palefaces." The words were accompanied by a sidelong glare at Jareth, then a soft smile at Sarah. "But if you must refer to me by something other than Doc, I'll respond to Eli Redwolf."

"That doesn't sound too hard, Doc," Sarah replied, softly. "I'm Sarah Williams, but I guess that was a bit obvious."

Doc snickered. "That one," he jerked a thumb in the direction of Jareth, "isn't pretty enough to be a Sarah, so it was obvious, even to these old eyes." Doc pulled up a chair and sat down. "Now, finish your breakfast. Jay, go find someone else to bother. I'll deal with you later."

"I've not finished breakfast," Jareth replied, returning to his chair, "and I won't be run off from my own table, not even by you."

"Eh. I tried to get him to leave us alone, lovely one, but he seems to be hovering like an old hen." Sarah couldn't help giggling at the teasing the old man was giving Jareth or the obviously insincere flirting. "When he leaves, though, this old fox will be here."

"So long as you don't bite, old fox," Sarah said, grinning, "I think we'll get along just fine without Fluffy there."

"Fluffy?" Jareth protested.

"Isn't that a better nickname than old hen?" Sarah asked, her voice sweet and innocent. "Or do you prefer plucked owl?"

Jareth sighed and ate, knowing he was not going to win any sort of battle with Doc sitting there egging the girl on. And to think, he'd encouraged and even _wanted_ this meeting of devils. As things went, so long as Sarah was healthy, he could stand the ribbing. He'd had worse.

"I prefer for my employees to eat," he replied dryly, "so they don't starve between the breakfast hour and the time they finally get a luncheon."

Sarah rolled her eyes and took another bite of her breakfast. Doc prepared a plate and dug in, noting that she had listened to Jay, but not from fear or any other unhealthy emotion. She trusted her boss, which was good. Her boss was worried about her, which was also good, but there was something else there--something most would dismiss. Just in a short exchange, he noticed there was a familiarity that didn't fit with the "just met two days ago" information he'd heard from town.

Alerted to the possibilities, Doc watched the byplay between the rancher and his guest-hand. There was history here, something between them other eyes would not see, and while he would not pry, he saw more than others could. He was a medical doctor, yes, and he had left the reservation years ago for his own reasons. He was not immune to his natural skills, though, and he saw deeper than others. Although he returned to the Blackfoot lands regularly, he preferred to seek a path alongside, not with, the people. Understanding ran deep, or rather open conflict was to be avoided between those of the tribe, discussion and understanding the preferred method of resolving difficulties within the tribe. Doc's decision to remained outside the boundaries of the rez were not well-liked, but those who knew him well understood his reasons. He may be miles away from his family and all the lands he had roamed growing up, but he was always available to those who needed him and never far from home in his heart.

The rest of breakfast was light and entertaining, Doc ensuring that the young, wounded girl would not be nervous with him. So far, she was more than a little relaxed; she was almost unguarded. While this was an admirable trait for one so fragile, it was also dangerous. The one called Jay was much stronger, much more certain of himself. This young girl had much to learn. He would see to it she had a knowledge of the paths before her and an ear to listen to her worries and a voice to tell her of things she could not yet know. For now, though, he would ensure she was in good physical health. Other healings required much time and focus that she was not ready to endure.

In time, Jareth left them to go out and work in the fields, saying something Sarah didn't understand about the irrigation system and dry soil. From what she gathered, there hadn't been as much rain as needed, which somehow made Jareth's life much more difficult.

"So," Doc said, turning to Sarah, "you have a story to tell, and I wager it is not a pleasant one."

"No," Sarah said, biting her lip. "It's not."

"Let's go up to your room where none will interrupt. We can talk while I work." The skittish-horse voice was back. Doc watched her carefully.

Sarah nodded, not nervous, but definitely not eager to have the conversation she knew she would have to have with this man. He positively reeked understanding and compassion, but there was an underlying core of steel, one that was as uncompromising with himself as it was with others. Somehow, she knew her story would show she was somehow unworthy of his good regard, and that hurt.

"Works for me," she said, standing. "I'm in the blue room." Realizing he might not know which one that was, she started to explain.

"I'm familiar with the house and with its masters," he cut her off, reassuring her. "I've stayed here more than once in winter, when the snows were deep and the roads impossible." He gave her a long look. "You know Jay."

The statement caught Sarah off-guard. "I met him a few years ago," she confirmed. "We were…not friends and not adversaries." She frowned as she walked to the stairs. "I don't know what our relationship would be called."

"Names are not always important when it comes to the heart," Doc said, "but this was an intense time for you, your meeting. There was much pain that came after it." There was a long silence as Sarah walked up the stairs. Finally, she responded.

"Yes," Sarah said, not realizing she was broadcasting her memories with every breath. Doc was a skilled people-reader, and he recognized the way she moved and reacted, even the stresses in her voice. "Intense is a good word."

"Then let me tell you this: Jay is not what he appears to be. I know, he told you I delivered him. I tell you now, the child I delivered could never be the man called Jay King." Doc's voice was soft, but the warning was not necessary for Sarah.

"I know," Sarah said, turning to face the old man at the door to her room. "He wasn't Jay when I met him."

"Do you know what he is?" Doc asked, knowing his people had a word for it, and figuring Sarah's did as well.

"Yes," Sarah replied. She felt compelled to add, "And I know I'm safe with him. I haven't been safe in a long time, Doc."

"So long as things stay as they are, I see no problems. Be careful, Sarah. You may be safe, but you are a beautiful girl. Men can be fools for less temptation." He didn't worry about Jay, not really. His main worry was the unresolved issues that hovered between Jay and Sarah, the ones even they didn't know where there.

"And women can be fools for less safety," Sarah replied, looking down at the floor. "Or none at all."

Doc watched as Sarah's shoulders slumped and her pain and fear came to the front of her mind. The memories she replayed now were new, and they caused her great pain.

"Tell me, little one," he said softly, his words coming in his native tongue. Even though Sarah didn't understand the words, she knew what he wanted.

"It started about four years ago, when my mother died…" she began, the story spilling from her, this time with the swiftness of infection from a lanced wound. As Sarah spoke, Doc moved around her, checking her heart and lungs, skin, and eyes, conducting a physical exam while she rid herself of her pain with her words. She was up to the most difficult part, the times she had used her body to get what she needed to survive, when she paused. Doc had stopped moving.

"So far, you are too thin, but healthy," Doc said. His eyes were calm, his face completely neutral. "The most difficult part of the examination is coming up. Do you wish to talk through it?"

Sarah nodded jerkily, then began removing her shirt and jeans. Doc turned away to give her the privacy of the room, letting her slip under the sheet of her bed. When he returned to her side, she began speaking again.

"Sometimes, when I was out of money and couldn't find any other way to get money or food…"

As she spoke, Doc finished a gentle but thorough exam, testing and checking the most intimate portions of her body.

"There was great danger to you with what you did," Doc finally said, "and not the physical kind. That, you were careful with, and you should be commended for your care. The dangers for you were more of the spirit. To share the body with an unhappy or unwilling spirit is a kind of violation that can bring deep wounds." He saw Sarah blink and stare at him, then smiled. "I know, that sounds like something you'd hear in a bad Western, but there is truth to it. I am what most would call a medicine man, even though that has connotations that don't belong with my ancestors. I am a _healer_, Sarah, but there is more to healing than just the body. Physically, you are strong and mostly well--I'll say more on that later. Emotionally, you are wounded. Spiritually, you are wounded. Mentally, you are strong, but wounded. These four things must be in harmony for you to be truly strong. Let those who can help you as you heal."

"I…don't think I'm ready for this conversation, Doc," Sarah managed, her voice shaky. "Can we…talk…later?"

"I'll leave you my number, but I must warn you that I'm an old-fashioned doctor. I tend to go see my patients rather than wait for them to come see me. Sometimes, they don't even have to have an appointment. I just show up." He grinned at her. "Keeps people on their toes and good behaviour, no?"

Sarah couldn't help but laugh a bit. There was something about Doc that just made her feel better about life. Just the way he spoke and the openness of spirit he brought with him made her think that life was precious and wonderful again, and that hadn't been something she believed for a long time. He gave her laughter, even when he gave her advice and wisdom.

"It would me," Sarah admitted.

"Good. I'll keep that in mind." Doc grinned at her a moment, then stood. "Dress, Sarah. We will talk again downstairs."

With that, Doc took his satchel and walked back down the stairs, almost running over Jareth who was waiting impatiently at the foot of the stairs.

"Well?" Jareth demanded.

"I will tell you only because there is no medicine here that can help her, old one. Listen well. She has a condition called genital warts, though she did not catch these from any sort of loose behaviour. There is nothing that indicates promiscuity. It was probably from something she wore or a shared towel. She also has the cold-sore virus, Simplex II. Can your kind heal these?" Doc's voice was calm but pointed.

Jareth blinked. "Old one?" he murmured. "Nothing gets past you, does it? And yes, I can heal both of those, though I will need to consult with…another. How did you know?"

Doc snorted. "You're good," he admitted. "And so is the other one. But there are things that you cannot see. I can see them, and so can others with my particular gifts. What is, is. To those who know how to look, nothing is hidden." He paused, hearing Sarah walking down the hall. "Go. Let me speak with her."

Jareth nodded and walked back outside. He would get in touch with his healer while he fixed the damned irrigation system for the third time. If he didn't know better, he'd accuse Gareth of letting the thing go to ruin while he was up her just so Jareth would have to fix it.

Doc waited for Sarah at the foot of the stairs and took her into the living room. When she was comfortably seated, he spoke.

"Sarah, there is no nice way to say this, so I'll be blunt. You have two STDs, though they are not dangerous in the way of most." He saw her turn pale. "Both can be treated, though not by…traditional medicine."

"You mean, J…Jay?" she caught herself just in time.

"By whatever name you know him, yes. The first is simple. The sores that sometimes come to your lip are the Herpes Simplex II virus. This is not like the other form, but I know the sores are said to be painful when they do come. These are unappealing and annoying, but not overtly dangerous. The second is not dangerous either, but it is embarrassing. I will draw blood before I leave, just to confirm what I believe I have found, but you have a condition called genital warts."

"But I haven't--" she began.

"Let me finish," he said, holding up a hand to stem her outburst. "This particular virus is a tricky one. There are other conditions it can cause, but this particular form is not life-threatening and you could live a normal life. To prevent passing the condition to your partner--when you do take one--you would have to be careful. Other things, though, you would also have to do carefully. Sharing towels would not be a good idea." Sarah winced. She had done that more than once when she had stayed in a YWCA or split hotel rooms with two or three other girls. "Neither are other forms of intimate sharing. Not all STDs require intimate contact of skin to skin. This particular one is more…resilient than others off skin."

"Oh." Sarah sighed. "I guess I have to tell Jareth," she said, absently using the name she knew. Doc raised an eyebrow at her slip, but said nothing about the name.

"That would be wise. He can cure these conditions. My medicines cannot." Now Doc looked at her and asked, "Sarah, there is something that troubles you, and it has nothing to do with the old one. Tell me."

"There's nothing you can do, unless you can change time," she said, not wanting to go into it.

"Time cannot be changed, but pain shared is pain halved. I need say nothing for you to begin the healing. Just speak." The quiet confidence in his voice gave Sarah courage.

"I told you about using my mouth to…get money to live on. There was one, the first one, when I wasn't as careful. I was so nervous and so hungry that I didn't think of anything other than getting it over with. I didn't realize that he wasn't going to be content with just what I offered." She took a breath, remembering the ugly scene. "Everything started out alright, I guess, but then he got rough. He held my head in place and moved. My teeth caught his skin a few times and he slapped the back of my head so hard I saw stars. Then he gripped my hair so tightly I couldn't move. It was…terrifying and…painful. I couldn't breathe.

"When he…finished, though, he said he wasn't done with me. He started pulling at my shirt and jeans, trying to get them off of me. My head still hurt and I was still gagging and choking for air, so I didn't understand at first. He…he almost managed it. I don't know how I did it, but I got one hand free and, well, I grabbed hold and pulled." Doc's lips twitched. Sarah shivered. She wasn't looking at him. "He hit me again, so I twisted, too. That's when he screeched and fell on the floor, retching and whimpering. I fixed my jeans and shirt and ran out of the room." She shook her head. "Do you know what makes me feel even stupider about that? I forgot the money. After all of that, I forgot what I'd gone in there for."

Sarah was quiet for a minute, berating herself anew for losing sight of her goal. "I got lucky, though, and an older lady saw me in the park. I was crying, and it was just after I'd gotten away from the hotel room. She brought me a carry-out bag from McDonald's, so I did get to eat. Next day, I found someone else who would cooperate on my terms--a college guy, I think. That time, I didn't forget the money."

Doc looked at her. From the way she spoke, he knew she was unaccustomed to speaking from her heart. She hid her pain, her fear, and continued on. While this was good in many ways, for there to be no one with whom to speak of her heart was a source of amazement and pain to him. He was raised to speak with and for those he loved and even those with whom he disagreed. To have none able to hear him would bring him pain. To be alone was foreign to him in ways it was not to Sarah. Finally, he spoke.

"Distraction by pain and fear is nothing that should bring you shame, Sarah. You were able to prevent an assault that would have wounded you even more deeply. Such actions are admirable and should be a source of pride. You learned from that first experience what you should and should not do. Such learning is admirable and should be remembered."

"But what I did--"

"Was no small part of what you thought and knew at the time. You were alone and in a place where you had no real friends or allies--or even enemies. What you did was what you thought you had to do. You have learned one of the great truths of life: It is not easy or gentle with those who are in need. Your path was not one that is recommended, but only a great fool does not know such happens. Let go of the pain and embrace the lessons you have taken from these experiences." Doc stopped and looked at her. "Perhaps it is too soon for a full healing talk. Go in small steps then. Consider what could have happened and did not. Consider what could have become of you without the funds you gained from things you did not enjoy. You did not enjoy what you did, correct?"

"No, I didn't. I hated it. But the alternatives…" Sarah shook her head, trying to free herself of the visions of girls her age and younger, emaciated and hollow-eyed, willing to do anything with anyone, just so they could get the powders and pills that made their lives bearable. Living dollies with shattered hearts and broken health, sometimes obviously pregnant. One girl she'd seen had miscarried in an alley and gone on to take two men in the backseat of an old car. Three days later, she'd been dead from infection and hemorrhaging. No one had taken her to the hospital.

"Were even worse. I have seen and heard much," Doc said, his serious face and eyes showing his age. "There is little you could say that would surprise or even dismay me. My heart hurts when I hear tales like the one you have told, but there is also hope. Sarah, you are alive, healthy, and somewhere you will not be harmed. There are those around you who will help you and give with open hearts. Let your heart be open to receive what they offer. You will find what they need and provide for them in return."

"The circle of life kind of thing?" Sarah sighed. "I never really bought into that when we learned about it in school, and it's even harder to believe now." She had always hated the 'web of life' and 'it takes a village' philosophies that were so popular around her hometown. What had happened to making it on your own and striving until you succeeded? Why did everyone have to have a shoulder to cry on? All crying did was make your head hurt, your eyes puffy, and your nose stuffy. The appeal of close girl friends was lost on her, as was the tight-knit parent-child relationship. It was difficult to understand what you never had.

"And yet you sit here in the home of one who owed you nothing and opened to you all you needed--including clothes and a visit with a doctor. Is it so hard to believe when you live it?" Doc's voice was calm, carefully not rebuking her for her seemingly ungrateful attitude.

"It's not charity," she insisted, pride rearing up. "Everything he's giving me is coming out of my pay."

"Pay that comes from him," Doc said gently. "Tell me, what price the safety you mentioned earlier? The kindness and openness I saw between you at breakfast? What price is there on the food that nourishes your heart and the knowledge he will give to you, not asking you to stay and use it only here? What will you do for him? More of what you did with other men?"

"No!" Sarah almost shouted. "Jareth's not like that. He's--" She stopped. What did she know about Jareth's expectations?

"He's a man. There is something in you and in your company that he needs. Just as you have needed what he is providing willingly, so you will give to him what he needs. Your body is not the medium of this transaction. There is something within you that the old one seeks, even if he knows it not. Perhaps it is your gentleness. Perhaps it is your will to continue. Perhaps it is the kindness and teasing you give to him when few others dare. Your old one is not an easy man, Sarah. Be open to the possibilities. Give and take from one another as you need to do. There will be an even reckoning in the end. There need be no pain or shame."

Sarah sat quietly for a long minute.

"Are you saying we are going to fall in love?" she asked, bewildered by all the talk of giving and taking and being open.

Doc laughed. "I am saying that many possibilities branch from these moments the two of you share. If you become lovers or friends or simply help one another before parting, who can say? The future will be as it is. The past is done and will remain as it was. This moment is the one you have before you. Do not dismiss a future out of hand. Do not accept one that has not yet occurred. Simply be as you are and become what you will become. All else will come naturally to you, if you are open in your heart."

"So I should just lay my heart out in the road and wait for it to be squashed?" Sarah was still confused.

"Nothing like it. An open heart and mind does not mean you are careless. Be careful with what you allow in, but be open to others. You are not a basket, waiting to be used and filled with whatever is lying around. You are a person, a woman, a willing receptacle of life. Be a person, not a basket. A basket cannot help but be used how others will. A woman is strong and beautiful, the strength of the home. From you will come life, but only if you allow it."

"Now we're talking about children?" Sarah was close to panic. From a check-up to children in one sitting? What the Hell?

"We're talking about heart and mind." Doc thought for a moment. "Are you alive?"

"Of course."

"Are you sentient?"

"Of course."

"Then from you comes life, even as life goes into you. Call it breath, call it energy, call it…Fred. The name does not matter--the reality does. Life flows into you and life is expelled from you in every moment. You are open to life. Now be open to the lives of others. Let their lives touch yours, but take away from them only what you need. Give to them what they need. You are as you are, and none can change that but you." Doc laughed softly at her rapid blinking and shook his head. "Perhaps you should understand that my words come from my past. My past, my early years, all say that no one man is alone what he is with others. The strength of the whole depends upon the strength of the individuals, but the individuals are strong so that others may become strong through the strength the one brings to the whole."

Sarah thought about this for a minute, willfully blanking out the thoughts of children and other panic-inducing phrases.

"A chain is only as strong as its weakest link," Sarah rephrased. "So every link needs to become as strong as it can be. Then the chain is the best and strongest it can be, and each link will be stronger in the chain than it is alone."

"An apt analogy," Doc nodded. "And perhaps that is enough for today. Ask yourself about the chain of this ranch. What strengths do you offer and what strengths are being offered to you? What will you need to become strong here? What will you offer to make the rest of the ranch strong?"

Sarah nodded. "I get it now." She thought for a minute. "First, I need to get strong as I can physically, and that means…telling Jareth about the…viruses." Doc didn't mention he'd already told the old one. This would make her stronger. "Then I need to work on the skills I'll use around here and make sure I eat properly and enough. Once I'm going in the right direction with that, I need to open up a bit more to Jareth and let him talk to me, too." She bit her lip. "And then…I call you?"

"Or before, if you need to think something through that you are not ready to speak with Jareth about it." Doc repressed a grin at the name. He couldn't wait for the opportunity to use that name on the old one. "I may not be home, but I do keep an answering machine. Just leave a message and I _will_ get back to you. If you need, call my office. Nurse Highhorse will find me if you need me. You may find you do not need my voice, but that your own will provide answers just as well."

"Nurse Highhorse?" Sarah wasn't sure if that was a joke.

"A bad joke. She's always on her high horse about something. Her real name is Ellen Pitre, but I haven't called her that in years." Doc thought for a moment. "I wouldn't advise calling her Highhorse, though. I'm the only one who can get away with that. Then again," he grinned at his patient, "I am her boss." He sobered and continued. "She's a nurse practitioner, so she's able to handle most of what comes up. There are others in town and around who have various medical training, but we're the two on-call all the time."

Sarah nodded, then addressed his last sentence about answers. "How can I provide answers to myself about things I don't even know how to talk abou?"

"The heart knows what the mind does not always want to see. Sometimes the spirit knows and it takes longer to understand. Always, though, the mind is the filter for our actions. Once the mind is trained to see clearly the heart and spirit, the rest becomes clear. I do not mean it will be easier, just that it will be clear." Doc sighed. "I must warn you that nothing is ever truly easy, even when it is most clear."

"Why do I think you should be calling me Grasshopper and making me walk on rice paper without tearing it?" Sarah sighed.

Doc laughed. "That's next week."

"Great. Just for that, I won't offer you any pie." Sarah sniffed and tried to look injured, but her lips couldn't stop twitching.

"Just for that, I'm taking the rest of it with me. Call it my fee," he countered.

"Okay, I'll share," Sarah capitulated quickly, making Doc chuckle. "Shall we?"

"Heh. Let's finish it off and Jareth can go begging Dianne for another." Doc thought it was a good idea.

Sarah smirked at the wicked glee that suddenly danced in Doc's eyes and together they went to wreak havoc on a certain sugary, flaky, fruity dessert. As they ate, Sarah learned more about the area and the people, Doc filling her in on a few of the more salient townsmen and how the town operated on a day-to-day basis. When they finished the pie and coffee, Sarah looked into the pie plate. There were two lone cherries, an apple slice, and a bit of crust left. Grinning wickedly, she carefully wrapped the pie remnant in its aluminum foil and stuck it back in the freezer. Jareth could have dessert after all.

"Diabolical," Doc murmured, approving of her plan. "What did he do to you?"

"He stole my pie last night," Sarah replied. "I consider this payback. Do you think Dianne will make another pie soon?"

"You know, you could learn how to bake one," Doc replied, grinning at her expression.

"Doc, I can cook, but baking defeats me every time. The pie would end up being half crystallized, half charred, and half raw--and don't ask me how I'd manage to get three-halves, but I promise I would." Sarah sighed, thinking of rocklike cakes that had unbaked centers, fallen muffins that were better hockey-pucks than food, and cookies even two-year-olds wouldn't touch when they were crumbled up in chocolate milk.

"I'll see Dianne on the way out," he replied, shaking his head. "She mentioned something about a yearly check-up for her baby, so maybe I can get another pie out of her, too." They were walking to the door and Sarah had just opened it, stepping out onto the porch.

"For us or for you?" she asked, her voice suspicious, and for good reason.

Doc gave her an innocent, injured look. "Why, Sarah, what a thing to ask."

Sarah snorted and just gave him a look. Doc chuckled. Together, they walked down the porch steps and separated when Sarah saw Jareth waving to her. She walked over, calling her farewell to Doc. Doc waved and walked to the horse Jareth had saddled. It was a nice day, and the quickest way to the little cabins Dave and his wife used was cutting across the fields.

Jareth watched as Doc rode off and Sarah walked over to him. She looked more relaxed now than she had earlier. He deliberately ignored her appointment with Doc, figuring that she wouldn't want to discuss it now, and introduced her to the well-known tool of cowboys, the rope. In this case, it was a braided rawhide lariat he had made last year.

"Ready to get started?" he asked, lifting the slender, limp length of braided cord.

"I guess. So, what do I get to lasso?" she asked.

"Rope. This is a lariat, and you rope calves and cows with it. 'Lasso' is for movies and newbies." Jareth gave her a look. "While you may be a newbie now, by the end of summer you'll know what's what around a ranch."

"Yeth, mathter," she replied, mock-bowing to him, complete with hunched back and a limp. "So, what do I do?" she asked as she straightened up. Jareth ignored her Igor impression.

"First, you have to understand how to widen the loop and get the rope spinning." With those words, he began demonstrating the art of twirling a rope in the air. Sarah watched, carefully noting his movements. Jareth let the rope bounce lightly to rest on the ground the now-small loop coming to rest just in front of his toes. He handed her the lariat and Sarah did her best to mimic his actions.

When she lifted pulled the loop close enough to twirl properly, things seemed to be going well. It was only once she'd begun to circle her wrist that she realized this was much more difficult than it looked. On the second swing around, the loop jumped up and smacked her in the nose.

"OW!" she yelped, dropping the lariat.

"Keep your hand angled," Jareth noted, walking over and lifting her hand to the correct angle. "Otherwise, the rope can bite."

"Thanks for the warning," she said, sliding the loop close again. This time, she managed to start a decent loop, but moved too fast and the loop uncoiled and wrapped around her throat.

Jareth left his perch on the rail of the horse corral, untangled her, and showed her how to retie the knot. When she had retied the knot to his satisfaction, he returned to his seat, and watched her start again. This time, she managed to keep the small loop going for about twelve seconds before she lost speed and the loop simply collapsed.

"Better. Do it again," Jareth said, watching. Today, he could devote time to starting Sarah on roping. Quinn's wife, Lacey, had agreed to help with the heavier work, part of her private deal with Jareth. Every time someone in need of training came on, Lacey stepped up and helped out, leaving her regular job at the small beauty salon in town to prep the ranch before she and Quinn went haring off on another round of rodeo, or until the newcomer was proficient enough not to get himself killed--whichever need came first that year. Since Lacey had grown up on a ranch in Wyoming, she was familiar with what needed doing and did it, no additional instructions required.

Jareth watched and coached Sarah for close to an hour before she managed to get the loop moving properly.

"Now for something a bit trickier," he said, coming to stand behind her. "Start the circle." She did. This time, he stepped up to her and slid his hand over hers, letting her guide the motion and speed. The idea was a good one, he'd employed it before. The execution was lacking, for she had jumped about a foot into the air and tossed the entire loop up into the air. Given speed and angle, the rope ended up wrapping around her chin and his left arm.

"That was not what I had in mind," he said dryly as she spluttered incoherently.

"Warn me, Jareth. I'm not…I don't like it when people just walk up and touch me." She changed the sentence, and he wondered what she had intended to say.

"Now you know. When I stand behind you while you are learning something with rawhide or rope, I intend to give you a practical demonstration as I talk you through the motions." He looked down at her as he shook the lariat from his arm. "Now, start again."

Growling, Sarah did so. This time, when he touched her hand, she lost the rhythm for only a second before getting it back. As he spoke and guided, she learned to grow the loop, or make it bigger while she kept it moving. This process involved both handsm, so it involved both of his hands as well, since she had to let the rawhide slide through her gloves and feed the growing loop with the longer coil of the lariat. Learning this took very little time, but turning the technique into a successful solo effort had taken a bit longer. Finally, she managed to twirl the loop and let it grow as she twirled it. Jareth repeated his teaching technique for the opposite, shrinking the loop. Conversely, it took only a few minutes before she learned how to make it smaller, too. Suitably pleased with her progress, Jareth led her over to the practice calf, a vaguely calf-shaped construction of wood, complete with neck, head, and baby horns.

"Now, to rope a calf requires timing, anticipation, and, at first, dumb luck. Start the loop," he instructed. He stood behind her, slid his hand over hers, and let her guide the motion. He'd done this twice while she was learning to make the loop larger and smaller, so she didn't manage to get them both tangled up this time. "You want to cast when you're right _here_--" he snapped their hands forward.

Sarah had kept hold of the rope. The loop wrapped around their arms from wrist to shoulder.

"How do you manage it?" Jareth sighed, staring at their bound arms.

"How do I manage what?" Sarah asked, not sure how this was her fault. He hadn't mentioned letting go of the rope.

"Every other person I've shown this to over _several_ years," the emphasis on the word 'several' gave her an idea what he meant, "has let go when their hand moved forward. Why in seven hells did you hold on?"

"You didn't say anything about letting go, just wanting to cast." The logic was uniquely feminine in Jareth's estimation.

Sighing and resigning himself to the inevitable, he clarified. "When I say something like 'you want to cast', from now on, understand that I intend you to suit actions to words. If I am standing behind you, that means I will be moving your hand very quickly and you are to let go or hold on, depending on the phrasing used."

"Fine," Sarah replied, irritated that he hadn't untangled their arms yet. "Now, get the damned loop off my arm and I'll try again."

Neither one knew they had gathered an audience. Fortunately for Doc and Quinn, the pair at the practice calf were too far away to hear their laughter.

Sarah managed to, with Jareth's expert guidance and assistance, rope the practice calf twice in close to two hours work. Neither of those times had been alone. As the morning wore on, Sarah's temper and the results of her throws were deteriorating rapidly. It was such a simple concept: twirl rope, cast rope, drop loop over calf's head, pull loop tight. The execution was proving to be a cast-iron bitch with PMS.

Finally, close to noon, Jareth called a halt. "Enough for today. Let's go in, make lunch, and you can get to the stables."

"Is the whip any easier?" Sarah moaned, rubbing her arm. She was nearly convinced it was dead. She'd passed pain an hour ago, but was determined to get one more good throw in. Determination had finally given way to the desire to be able to use her right arm that afternoon.

"For me or for you?" Jareth returned, not considering her feelings when he said it. "Never mind. Most likely not, since it is actually a fairly easy process." He sighed. "You can fix a fence almost immediately with a tool you've never seen before, remember how to ride with almost no practice for two years, and understand how things work around here at a basic level without previous experience. I'm anticipating the rope and whip lessons are going to be pure Hell. For both of us."

"Then why learn?" Sarah asked, frustrated enough to ask the question.

Jareth shook his head. "We've got some separating to do--some of the young bulls we kept are starting to feel frisky. Some of the young heifers aren't going to be bred this year. Some of the older cattle aren't being sold or traded to other ranches in the area to improve bloodlines. There's always a reason to need a rope. The whip, well, you saw the old brush cattle. Believe me, you'll need a whip for them, not a rope." He gave her a look. "I don't even try to rope the brush cattle. Then there's the possibility of stampede during nasty weather, or just for the hell of it, if the weather's been making them restless." He didn't bring up pistol and rifle. There were some things he just wasn't ready to consider.

Sarah sighed and walked with him up to the house. They brushed off their boots and headed for the stairs, each intending to wash up well before going into the kitchen to make sandwiches for lunch. This time, Doc, Quinn, Lacey, and Dave joined them inside. Now few jokes were made at Sarah's expense, but she was stronger than she seemed about some things. As long as no one got really nasty, she could handle the teasing. With Jareth and Doc, she gave as good as she got. With Dave, Lacy, and Quinn, she managed a few little barbs. They laughed through lunch, even though they ate quickly, enjoying the easy camaraderie.

As Sarah walked out to the barn, Lacey's kind gift of Tylenol long since taken, she realized that she'd had more fun in half an hour than she'd had in months. Even after the frustration of morning roping lessons, she'd been able to lighten up and simply enjoy the company she was sharing. Something about that lunch had made her even more determined to heal and grow stronger, able to take life as it came and turn it to be what she wanted.

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A/N 2: I hate seeing 'Please read/review' all over everything, but a few little notes would help immensely. To my reviewers so far, thank you. Most of you have reviewed for each chapter, and your notes are eagerly read and appreciated. To those who've read and not reviewed…please do. It's more than a way of feeding the ego. Reviews help with plot points, clarity, and other writing technicalities that would otherwise continue to be weak or overpowering. Thanks--TA


	5. A Thousand Miles from Nowhere

THAT SUMMER

**inspired by the song "That Summer" by Garth Brooks**

**Ch. 5 A Thousand Miles from Nowhere **

**Disclaimer: **Neither the song "That Summer" nor the movie _Labyrinth_ are mine, and I make no money or other profit from my writing. Would I could and did, but I can't and I don't.

**Rating: M **for mature themes & sometimes explicit scenes including, but not limited to, death, drugs/alcohol, abuse, and sex. If you can't handle these things, leave now.

**A/N:** This chapter took a _while_ to write, but that happens sometimes. All lyrics written out, with the exception of one small excerpt (which will be obvious) are traditional and well past copyright dates. Open source material rules! Also, goofed with the STD information--herpes simplex I is the cold-sores, HSV-II is the other. Please do not take any other medical info in this story as fact because I tweak facts sometimes in order to tell a better story. Research on your own if you're curious. Local libraries and librarians are wonderful, wonderful places and people. Be careful with 'net research and never, ever trust Wikipedia for more than the most basic facts. I have now refreshed my memory and will eventually go back and fix chapter 4. Eventually. Thanks, Mosin, for your help! **RELOADED with proper spacing for the songs!!**

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Sarah slid the pitchfork under the soiled bedding and lifted the muck to the wheelbarrow for what felt like the ten thousandth time that day. In truth, she'd been working in the barn for about an hour. The sheer number of horses, all of which were in the paddock for the afternoon to enjoy the warm summer day, made the work take longer than it would have for a smaller and less traditional spread. From what she'd gathered by comments made at lunch, if the practice wasn't at least one hundred years old, Jareth didn't use it. On the other hand, they had some of the best cattle in the land, and the quality was consistent.

Her arm hurt again. While lunch had been fun, Doc's presence making her more relaxed with the others than she would have been under ordinary circumstances, she couldn't help wondering about the first day here. Was it only yesterday?

Why had she told everything to Jareth? She'd been so surprised that she blurted out several things almost immediately. But she still didn't know why she'd been so forthcoming. She stopped working for a minute, and stood.

"No. He wouldn't have," she murmured as one solution poked and prodded at her. Had he, in fact, bespelled her to tell him everything? Even though he'd said he had no power over her, did that mean he couldn't cast a spell or charm that would affect her? She didn't want to think about it any more, but every time she started to concentrate on something else, those suspicions would intrude and she'd be back to her worries and, yes, fears again. Was she safe here? Really, truly, safe?

She shook her head and forced herself to keep working, taking out her worries on the muck and mud of the stables.

"How do they manage it?" she muttered, concentrating on the horses. "I just did this yesterday, and it's just as bad today. Why can't horses be potty-trained?" Sarah continued in this vein for some time, coming up with impossible and improbable solutions that occasionally involved the magic from a certain poofy-haired king.

And speaking of poofy hair, what had happened to all the flash and glitter and dazzle she'd seen and experienced in his labyrinth? Was it all a part that he had played for her, or was it more? He had appeared almost exactly the way she had imagined him, after all. Was she to blame for all the glitz and glitter? Was the real Jareth--what an entertaining phrase!--more like the one she saw daily, with his cottons and denim and leather? More to the point, was there a "real Jareth" if his twin was identical and they worked at being clones?

These thoughts and questions raced through her brain as she worked, the occasional fear of falling prey to a spell on the ranch occasionally popping up to send bolts of terror through her. Somehow, she would have to get answers to these questions. As she scattered the bedding and refreshed water and feed for the horses, she was determined to get her answers. Maybe she wouldn't be able to ask them all tonight, but she would get answers. Standing in the empty, freshly cleaned barn, Sarah noticed something odd.

There was no sound. No whistles or horns, no whish of traffic or blares of music and subway. There was nothing but the soft sounds of livestock far away, a low, long call from one steer to another or the occasional whinny accompanied by the thunder of hooves. The constant babble of voices was missing, replaced by the sound of wind through high grass and trees.

The faint jingle of tack came to her and she turned to see Quinn and Dave coming in, leading two horses.

"Doc's gone--you take care of his horse, we'll take care of the boss's," Dave said to her.

"Where is Jay?" she asked, managing to keep the right name.

"Business calls," Dave shook his head. "Something about a trade with a rancher in the eastern part of the state. Bigger pastures there--huge, actually--and we've never traded with them before. That's the only thing holding them back. Figger he'll be back sometime later, to take care of his tack."

From Dave, that was a long oration worthy of recording as proof the man could string together more than six words at a time. Sarah simply nodded and started brushing down Doc's horse. It wasn't long before Jareth came out to check on the tack, then he disappeared again with a quick word to Dave and Quinn while Sarah called in the horses to their boxes for the night. Even though it was summer, nights in Montana, especially in the foothills, could be cold.

Sarah walked out of the barn just as Jareth was walking up the steps to the porch. She jogged up and met him at the front door.

"Good time today," Jareth noted, seeing her beside him. "How's the roping arm?" He opened the door and motioned for her to precede him.

"Sore, but I think I'll be okay by morning," Sarah replied. She hesitated and decided not to start asking her questions tonight. She didn't want answers that would hurt, not after the day she'd had. Instead, she walked in and stepped to the side, letting him lead the way. "Am I working on roping in the morning again, or what?"

"Riding the fenceline on the western half. Lacey's taking the eastern set." The western half was relatively clear. It was the eastern section that had the majority of the difficult cattle hiding in the brush. It was a kindness for her inexperience, but one that would not last much longer. "You should be able to get in a good hour's practice at the roping calf without a problem." Jareth was heading up the stairs. "Go ahead and shower. After you're done, meet me in the kitchen to fix dinner."

"Okay, boss," she said, determined to relax and actually looking forward to tomorrow's ride. She would have time to think about the things that had come to mind today. She needed to think about them more before she asked questions that she might not want to have answered. Rather, she wanted the questions answered, but she wasn't certain she'd like or appreciate the answers. She forced herself to forget her anxieties and prepared to take her shower. The hot water worked its magic again tonight, but, as she dressed for the evening meal, she remembered the other things she had to discuss with him--the things Doc had said to her and that she needed to tell Jareth. Her mood was not nearly as sanguine when she left the bathroom as it was during her shower.

Sarah slipped on a pair of socks to keep her feet warm and walked down the stairs. Even in summer, the hardwood floors were cool to her feet. The kitchen tile was cold after the sun set.

"What's on the menu?" she asked, walking into the kitchen. Jareth was there alone, so she wasn't worried about what anyone thought. As large as the property was, as much time as she spent alone in the barn or working in or near the house, it seemed as if she were the only person in the wilderness.

"Mm," he hummed in response. "Steak, salad, and…some sort of vegetable that doesn't take three hours to cook properly."

"Let me see what's available," Sarah replied, looking into the pantry. Green beans, squash, and carrots were all available, but none of them sounded quite right with steak. There was a box of instant mashed potatoes, so she grabbed it. Looking around, she found nothing else in the pantry that seemed to work with this dinner, but in the refrigerator, she discovered broccoli. "How about steamed broccoli and my famous mashed potatoes?"

"Instant?" Jareth's lip actually curled in repugnance.

"You'll never know it by the time I'm done with them. Promise," she added. "I need butter, cheese, milk, mustard powder, and salt."

Jareth pursed his lips and considered the ingredients. Finally, he nodded and produced the salt and mustard powder from the cabinet, letting her get the rest from the refrigerator. They talked quietly when they needed to, mostly about the preparation of dinner. The steaks were prepared for broiling with pepper and a few other things that Jareth would not divulge. He started on the salad while Sarah concocted an unusual mixture for the potatoes. She set it aside and started the water for the broccoli, even as Jareth finished chopping ingredients for the basic salad.

"No tomatoes or egg?" Sarah asked, looking at the lettuce with croutons.

"It's a Caesar salad, the most basic," he replied. "The trick is the dressing." He produced an unmarked bottle and smiled. "My secret recipe, which I may condescend to share with you in another few hundred years."

"My desiccated corpse won't say a word," she vowed, appropriately solemn.

Jareth laughed and they walked over to the table. Sarah poured each of them a cup of coffee, adding cream to hers and nothing to Jareth's, even though the salt was handy. She wanted him in a good mood. She wanted herself in a good mood.

"So," she said, sitting down after handing him his coffee. "How was your afternoon?"

"Fair," he replied, taking a sip of the scalding coffee. He curled his tongue in on itself, nearly purring as the nectar of the gods slid down his throat. "We started mowing the first field, which was an earlier crop than usual. The mild spring let us plant one small section early. The irrigation system on the most recently planted field is behaving now, but I was there to watch it almost the entire time, so it may be a fluke. Other than that, it was a very normal day."

"Good. The barn's fine, and I already did two loads of laundry--hung up and folded, too. You need new socks, and before you say it, no I can't mend them. Not only do I have no idea how, I don't have time. And believe me, you don't want me to attempt working with a needle and thread. It always ends badly. My home ec teachers gave up on me and passed me only because I could cook like a demon, balance my checkbook in a minute, and set a table for twenty at a moment's notice. All the other skills, forget it."

"Yet you managed the laundry just fine," he commented.

"That was practical knowledge gleaned from home. They don't actually teach washing clothes and housekeeping in home ec." She changed the subject back to the ranch. "There's plenty of feed for the horses, probably for the next month, but we'll need to get in more corn and oats by late July." Sarah sipped her coffee and took a breath. "Jareth, about my visit with Doc…"

Jareth waited, and when she didn't immediately continue, he prompted her. "What of it?"

"Mostly, I'm okay. A little too light for my build, but otherwise in good health." She took a deep breath and stared at her coffee cup. "But there's two things Doc can't help. One is the cold sores I get sometimes--it's a virus called Herpes Simplex I. Not a big deal, not life-threatening or anything, but incurable. The other is also incurable, but he thinks it's not bad. At least, as in the 'go crazy and die' kind of bad. It's…bad enough, but--"

"Spit it out, Sarah," Jareth said, the dancing and dodging wearing on his nerves. She had spoken so easily the day before. What had changed?

"He thinks I have genital warts, but he's checking to make sure." She said it so quickly it took him a minute to process the slurred sounds into actual words, then to comprehend the meaning. She was still talking. "He took a blood sample before he left." She hesitated, remembering the warning Doc had given her while they ate the pie and chatted. "It could be…worse."

"What form of worse?" he asked, calm and seemingly relaxed.

"I-It could be the…other…herpes. He knows it's not anything else. I don't know how--ask him if you want. That's why he took the blood test. The…scarring," she remembered what he'd told her while he was checking her. "It's not bad…but…it means there's…something…more than just…what should be."

From speed-talking like that annoying man on the miniature car commercials to stumbling over her words in fits and starts. Sarah's news wasn't anywhere nearly as bad as it could have been, yet she was acting like it was the end of the world. Jareth did not pretend to comprehend the female mind, especially not this particular female's mind.

"So how did he come up with the warts theory, then?" His voice was neutral, almost dismissively calm.

Sarah almost breathed normally. This question, at least, wasn't about _her_, but instead was about Doc's thoughts and how he reached his conclusions. This, she could answer without feeling humiliation or some odd form of worthlessness.

"Apparently, there are other signs with the more dangerous STDs. I wasn't showing any of those symptoms, so he believes that he's correct. To be safe, though, he has two vials of blood in his pack." She felt the tears welling up in her eyes and shook her head sharply. She was not going to cry now. She hadn't cried in months, and damned if a few little sentences were going to turn her into a watering-pot, even if she didn't enjoy the conversation, and all the memories of the men and what they had wanted were making her feel like her soul needed a bath, too. She felt dirty again, and she hated it. For a moment, she hated Jareth, too, for making her feel like this. She shoved off any further inquiries to someone else and ended this portion of the conversation. "If you want to know more, call him. Tell him I said it was okay to talk to you, but please…no more right now."

"From which arm did he draw the samples?" Jareth asked, his compliance with changing the subject coming so quickly she wasn't quite able to follow.

"Left," she finally replied, now looking at him, her eyes oddly bright. At least he had changed the subject. She couldn't handle the thoughts that were edging into her mind right then. It had been such a pleasant day after her check-up, with only a few rough spots. She'd had so many rough spots over the past year that she'd forgotten what a good day felt like. It had been completely surreal the past two days, but so wonderfully normal. Well, apart from a few worries and a conversation or three. Then again, what did she know about normal? Was this normal? Did normal actually exist? If so, could it exist on a ranch in Montana where a Fae king came to vacation while leaving his exactly identical twin to rule, keeping to old traditions long left behind except for rodeo and exhibition, and spells that reinforced the desire to say little or nothing about the ranch or the nearby town? Sarah stopped thinking. She was giving herself a headache.

"And you're right-handed," he sighed. "I was trying to find an excuse for your lousy roping, but," he shrugged eloquently.

"Jerk," Sarah muttered, feeling oddly relieved that he was willing to let the conversation go. He would say something like that, and that very Jareth response let her get rid of the tension that had been building slowly all day.

"Sarah," Jareth said after a long, contented minute of sipping coffee in silence, "did you now Doc has suspicions of what I am?" He waited a long, time for her to finally answer. She sipped her coffee and studied the table, her socks, the window, the stove, everything but him. His eyes were narrowing and his expression was becoming less amiable by the second. When he could bear it no longer, when he was about to speak, Sarah finally responded.

"Yes," she replied. "He calls you one of the old ones. There's probably a long-held mythology that surrounds the Fae here, just like there is in Ireland and England." It was a dodge, but a logical one. He let it slide.

"The rest of Europe, too. We did enjoy a good romp in the old days." He sighed. "Bloody boring now, what with all the cities and the rules about this and that. Australia is fun, though. Certain parts of Canada and Russia. And, of course, the U.S."

"So glad you think so," Sarah rolled her eyes. "Now, how long until you put the steaks in?" She needed to talk about something else. Something much more normal--ha!--than Jareth's heritage. Dinner was a perfect topic, especially since they were in the kitchen.

"About twenty minutes," he replied after glancing at the clock on the wall.

"Time to put on the broccoli then and prep the pan for the potatoes." Sarah got up and started working, not realizing how closely Jareth watched her as she moved across the room.

Jareth's eyes tracked her movements, only a bit stiff from the work today and still graceful. Her jeans were loose in the seat and thighs, still a bit loose at the hip. If she was correct, she was probably going to fill out those jeans until the seams were stretched as she gained weight and muscle. She had always been slender, but now she was almost a waif. Idly, he wondered what would happen with her breasts and waist as she worked here. Her arms would remain slender, but they would be well-muscled. The thought of her having to return all of those lacy scraps for a larger size did not irritate him so much as it entertained him. To be a fly on the wall when she encountered Gracie and Jane again, this time with all of the extras they'd put on his tab.

His thoughts changed direction when he saw the way she dropped her right shoulder in favour of her left now, after all the practice she'd gotten in with the lariat. She'd need some of his sports cream for that or she'd not be able to move her right arm in the morning. He made a mental note to give her some from the cabinet today. Stll, she moved with an unconscious grace, something that she had done since he first saw her. He couldn't help the little smile that tugged at his lips as he remembered the fiery, defiant girl of four years ago, telling him that his labyrinth was a piece of cake. She had all but called "I triple-dog dare you!" Remembering a scene from one of his favourite winter shows, a Christmas show called _The Christmas Story_, he wondered if either he or his brother would have licked a frozen lamppost on a dare, especially with those deadly words. The answer was, depressingly, a resounding 'most likely', edging toward a definite 'absolutely'.

Tempting as it was to remember her as she had been, he was faced with the reality of the woman in front of him and her problems. She needed healing only he and his kind could provide, whether the major diagnosis was correct or wrong, the end result would be the same.

Unbidden, the same nagging questions bugged him again, as they had all through the day. How the Hell had Doc known Jareth was anything other than human? What was he missing that gave him away? And how did he know that Gareth wasn't Jareth? Had he said it just to make Jareth sweat? Was Doc serious about the things he'd said? What gifts? Humans weren't magical anymore. Were they?

After so many years of a strange form of anonymity, the definitely superior attitude the old man had sported had irked like nothing else, not even Jane's and Gracie's meddling.

Sarah returned to the table then, oblivious to the questions and doubts racing through Jareth's mind.

"Broccoli will be done in about thirty minutes, and the potatoes are ready to be slipped into the oven five minutes before the steak is done." She sat down and looked at her coffee. Then, she couldn't help the evil little voice in her head telling her to tease Jareth. She needed the entertainment. "Would you like some pie?" she asked, innocent as a lamb.

"Sounds lovely," he said. "Shall I?"

"I'll get it," Sarah said, shooing him to settle back. Jareth complied, resuming his pastime of watching Sarah as she walked to the freezer and pulled out the pie plate. With her back to him again, she neatly arranged the pie on a saucer, heated it in the microwave for a few seconds-just enough to take the chill off--added a dollop of heavy cream, and refreshed his coffee. She returned to the table and served him with a flourish. Then she backed over to the coffee pot again and waited. She didn't have to wait long.

"What the Hell is this?" he demanded, looking at the sliver of crust settled over an apple slice and two cherries. It looked vaguely obscene.

"The last of the pie," Sarah replied, managing not to smile. "Doc and I had a bit after you left this morning."

"A bit--you ate half a pie? The two of you? That old reprobate, I'm not surprised, but you, Sarah?" He sounded almost hurt. He was even pouting as he looked up at her, and Sarah couldn't help laughing as she reached into the cabinet over the coffee urn that was kept on all day and produced the pie Dianne had brought over earlier. Doc had requested a pie be sent and she had thoroughly enjoyed the idea of Sarah teasing Jareth with the remnants of the first one, especially after she'd heard the story of Sarah's first encounter with this particular dessert.

"I had a whole long spiel prepared about pie thieves and all, but after seeing that lost little-boy pout, I just couldn't give it to you." Sarah produced a pie knife and cut a generous wedge for each of them. "And if you steal this slice," she threatened, "I'm sending the entire pie over to Doc, and I won't ask Dianne for another one."

"Yes, ma'am," Jareth said, looking up at her just like Toby used to when he was in trouble for doing something he knew she wouldn't like but was going to manage to charm his way out of anyhow. "May I eat my pie now?" The voice was perfect, too.

"Oh, you're impossible," she sighed, pouring cream over both pies and in her coffee. "Eat."

Jareth chuckled and dug in to the still-warm pie with a smile. The smile quickly turned into a groan of satisfaction. This pie was possibly even better than the first. If Dianne weren't so completely devoted to Dave and her boys, he'd consider kidnapping her and making her the dessert chef in the palace. Sarah and Jareth laughed and joked while they ate their dessert first, Jareth threatening her with several ills if she didn't comply with the Rules of Pie as he proclaimed them. Sarah, her father's daughter to the hilt, worked in loopholes and exceptions to each proclamation.

"No one may eat the pie until I have had a slice," Jareth proclaimed.

"By slice," Sarah added quickly, "you mean a wedge no greater than two inches in width at the outside edge, tapering to a point, and the contents of only that section of the pie. In no way shall the first slice be filled with the majority of the fruit and covered with a sliver of crust on each side measuring as specified."

Jareth snickered, then continued. "Once the first slide has been eaten, others, namely you, may enjoy a smaller slice, but not until the first slice has been consumed."

"And when I've consumed my first slice, I shall definitely have seconds," Sarah snapped back, grinning. "You, however, are limited to the one slice with the aforementioned dimensions and contents."

"In that case, your slice may be no larger than one inch at the widest section and tapering to a point."

"But I may clean out the contents of three other slices' worth of fruit and…goo." She forgot the word for the contents of the pie crust.

"Should you remove more than one slice's worth of _filling_," Jareth pontificated, supplying the word for her, "you shall be required to rope the practice calf five times in one hour before you get another slice."

"Unless a certain blonde boss, namely you, eats two more slices of pie before said roping is accomplished, in which case, the requirement of roping is null and void and the pie is once again open to consumption by all."

"Once a slice has been cut and consumed, it is a crime to take another until I, Jareth, have eaten another slice. This crime shall be punishable by dancing with the Fieries for two hours." That this was in direct contradiction to a previous rule was beside the point. These were his rules and he could create them in any way he particularly wished. And he really liked this pie.

"Unless the criminal in question is me, in which case it is perfectly permissible for me to eat another slice, since I am woefully underweight," Sarah sucked in her cheeks and stomach when she said this, turning herself into the picture of dejected starvation. Then she started chuckling as Jareth snorted and added another 'law'.

"Should you, Sarah, be the one to eat a second slice before I do, then you shall be suspended headfirst in the Bog for two hours per cherry in the slice."

"Oh, come on," she groaned, rolling her eyes. That one was way too easy. "Should the number of cherries, halved, be less than the number of apple slices, the punishment is null and void and a certain blonde boss--that would be you, Jareth--will be suspended headfirst in the Bog in my place."

"However, if the number of cherries, halved, is not less than the number of apple slices, the Bog it is for you." He grinned at her. "And afterward, you will be required to dance for one hour with the Fieries, followed by sweetly begging pardon for your heinous crime, complete with grovelling and boot-kissing."

"That's three punishments for the same crime, which is illegal Here Above. For that, you forfeit two slices of this most excellent pie and will be required to sing heavy metal songs every night for one week." Sarah countered.

"Ha! You know nothing of music, and the forfeit of two slices is far too much. Half a slice and one evening of guitar and traditional cowboy songs."

"Nope," Sarah was adamant. "Two full slices, though the music--for one week--may be that of your choice."

Jareth pursed his lips, thinking. "Very well." Sarah nearly crowed with triumph, but his next words stopped her cold. "You get two full slices and the music, but," he held up one finger in caution, "for your feeble attempt at humour earlier, you are required to learn line dancing and attend the local Friday night gathering at the Double Cedar Bar, where you will dance and sing three songs before the appreciative audience. I choose the songs."

"No. I choose the songs," Sarah didn't object to the line dancing because she had no idea what it was.

"Sorry, you get what I let you sing, otherwise, kiss those two slices and the music goodbye." It was a final offer, and Sarah could recognize that.

"Fine, you choose the songs, but nothing perverse or suggestive." Sarah finished chewing her last bite of pie and lifted her coffee cup. Oh, the coffee and pie was perfect for an appetizer before dinner. Why didn't people have dessert first? Silly rules, only to get the yummiest part of supper after the rest of the meal was consumed and one was far too full to properly appreciate it!

"Oh, so now you're putting stipulations on my choices, are you? I'm hearing the sweet strains of 'There's a Tiger in Those Tight Fittin' Jeans" and 'Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw?'--" Jareth managed to pick up his napkin in time to block the mouthful of coffee that spewed across the table.

"That was just evil," she coughed, wiping her mouth and glaring at Jareth, who was laughing wickedly. "You did that on purpose!"

"Of course. And for spewing coffee all over my table--and the last bite of my pie, which I _will_ eat, despite your unwelcome addition, so don't even try to finagle it from me--you have forfeited two slices of pie back to me." He gave her a sickeningly sweet smile. "So, do you prefer those songs, or need I list a few more?" He got up and picked up the steaks to slide them into the oven to broil, confident he'd gotten the upper hand.

"How about 'Ziggy Stardust' and 'Rebel Rebel'?" she shot back, muffling a cough. "And if _you_ break any of the Rules of Pie, you have to dress the part to sing it, too!" Oh, now that was a fun thought!

Jareth almost dropped the broiling pan as Sarah added another loophole to the Rules of Pie. Dress like Ziggy Stardust? Oh, the thought! It nearly made him shudder. On the other hand, he rather liked the song "Rebel, Rebel". He started singing.

"Rebel, Rebel, you've torn your dress/ Rebel, Rebel, your face is a mess/ Rebel, Rebel, how could they know?/ Hot tramp, I love you so!"

After Jareth slid the steaks into the oven, he half-danced as he sang her second choice. He kept singing and moving his hips and legs as he tossed the dressing into the dark lettuce, only stopping when they were both laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

"You do that so well," Sarah managed to choke out. "Just…don't dance."

"Oh, now you get critical," he griped, grinning at her and leaning against the counter. "Clear the table while I get out the plates," he said, shaking his head and chuckling again. "For your information, women _beg_ me to dance." Sarah bit her tongue and said nothing, just giving him a disbelieving look. "My nickname for years has been Snakehips."

"Too much information," Sarah said, holding up a hand. Jareth gave her a wicked smile and moved just a bit for her to put their saucers in the sink.

"You've such a suspicious mind," he replied mildly. "They were referring to my dancing. Tsk-tsk. Naughty girl."

"Ri-i-ight," Sarah drawled, checking the time. Two minutes before her potato mixture went into the oven. "And I'm sure they weren't at all interested in the fit of your jeans or those eyes."

"Not in the least," he replied, practically creating a halo above his head. "I am the very model of virtue here in town. Out of town, however," he leered at Sarah comically, making her laugh a bit and shake her head.

"You are incorrigible," she sighed. She slid the potatoes into the oven and set the table. "Get the glasses out for the tea."

"So you're a sweet tea addict now, hmm?" he asked. "First the excessive consumption of pie, now the sweet tea. You'll be thoroughly corrupted by the end of summer, I promise you."

Sarah gave him a long look. "Thoroughly corrupted is it? From tea and pie?"

"And my august and scintillating presence, of course," he added airily, as if it were a given.

"I'll take my chances, oh ego-less one." Sarah teased as she and Jareth were putting the broccoli, salad, and glasses on the table. They finished just as the steaks and potatoes were finished. Sarah dished the potatoes into a large bowl and whipped them with a fork while Jareth served the steaks.

Dinner was as quiet and relaxed as their pre-meal dessert had been silly. After dinner, Jareth let Sarah clean the dishes while he went into his office to check the messages left for him throughout the day. Once he had gone through the few messages and jotted down notes for the morning, when he usually returned business calls, today's call being the exception, he picked up something and walked back to the front door.

"When you finish that," he called to Sarah, "come out to the porch."

"Okay," Sarah called back. "Give me about five minutes." She had left the kitchen and was putting on the third load of laundry for the day. The temptation of adding a red shirt to Jareth's whites was tempting, but she managed to refrain. How long had it been since he'd done laundry? She decided she didn't really want to know. Twice today, while she was cleaning out the stalls, she had taken a short water-break and gone inside. Given that she'd just received the laundry as one of her chores, she'd decided to start it. Looking at the reduced-but-still-unusually-large pile in front of her, she was glad she had.

Jareth, at the door, thought for a minute about her thin frame and the low temperature for the night, which was expected to be in the forties, even though the temperature at noon had been close to 85 Fahrenheit. It was now, he checked the weather gauge hanging just inside the door, a cool 65 and dropping. For western Montana, in the lower parts of the mountains especially, it was a warm day. As was normal, though, the night would be cold. The extremes of the temperatures and weather were part of the charm of the place, though he hated the lightning storms, the dry thunderstorms, that played havoc with the herds in July and August.

"Bring a jacket," he cautioned, knowing Gracie and Jane had added a denim jacket to her supplies. He didn't wait for a reply, but put on his hat and walked out onto the porch into the cool late-evening air. He had on his long sleeved shirt, which was enough for him until the frost came. It was close to eight p.m., and the stars were just coming out over the horizon. He sat down on his favourite chair, one Gareth tolerated and used so that there was no visible difference between them, and lifted the object to his knee.

Five minutes later, Sarah ran up the stairs and got her jacket. She put on her hat and boots, too, knowing if she needed the jacket, she'd also need the added warmth of her hat and shoes. The chilly night air made her gasp a bit when she walked outside, but what made her stop cold in the doorway was the silhouette of Jareth on an ancient rocking chair, holding a guitar in his lap.

"Well, come out. No need to let the mosquitoes in," he said to her, his fingers dancing lightly over the strings. Sarah complied, staring in surprise as she closed the door.

"No self-respecting mosquito would come out in this cold," she managed, the unblinking stare she was giving him belying her casual comment.

Jareth chuckled and began playing "I Ride an Old Paint."

"I ride an old paint, I lead an old dan  
I'm goin' to Montana to throw the hoolihan  
Feed 'em in the coulees, water in the draw  
Their tails are all matted, their backs are all raw

"Ride around little dogies, ride 'round them slow  
For the fiery and snuffy are rarin' to go

"Old Bill Jones had a daughter and a son  
The son went to college, an' his daughter went wrong  
His wife got killed in a free-for-all fight  
But still he keeps singin' from mornin' till night

"Ride around little dogies, ride 'round them slow  
For the fiery and snuffy are rarin' to go

"When I die, take my saddle from the wall  
Put it onto my pony, lead him out of his stall  
Tie my bones to my saddle and turn our faces to the West  
And we'll ride the prairies that we love the best

"Ride around little dogies, ride 'round them slow  
For the fiery and snuffy are rarin' to go

"I've worked in the town and I've worked on the farms  
All I've got to show's just this muscle in my arms  
Blisters on my feet, calluses on my hands  
And I'm goin' to Montana to throw the hoolihan

"Ride around little dogies, ride 'round them slow  
For the fiery and snuffy are rarin' to go

"Ride around little dogies, ride 'round them slow  
For the fiery and snuffy are rarin' to go"

Sarah was entranced by the almost lazy rhythm of the ballad. Between his voice, slightly roughened by the time Here Above, and the light accompaniment, she knew she would always love this song. The melody dipped and swayed in time, like a lazy horse's walk.

"Jareth?" she asked, listening as he strummed a few more chords and prepared to sing another song.

"Yes?" he returned.

"What are 'the fiery and snuffy'?"

"Could be one of several things, depending upon who you ask. City folk often think it refers to the locomotives waiting to take the herd to the slaughter houses. Some say it's the branding irons and fires. Some say the line is 'they're fiery and snuffy', referring to the colours of the steer and the horses. Others, that they refer to spirited or touchy mounts. Up here, though, the most commonly accepted meaning is the herd is restless because of thunder and lightning--fiery meaning lightning and snuffy meaning thunder." He shrugged. "As with many things, it depends on who you ask and where you are."

"Then I take it there's more than one meaning to 'throw the hoolihan', too?"

"Of course. There's a particular way of throwing a loop to rope a horse--it's long and complicated to describe and I'll show you this weekend, if you'd like. The other is referring to a bulldogging method, where the steer 'hoolihanned' does a forward roll, but that's rare now--it was years ago, too--and the song is older than bulldogging is credited to be by several years."

"How old is that song?"

"Hmm…I first heard it in Wyoming, somewhere around 1890, but I'm sure it was sung for several years and with several variations for a few decades before that, most likely composed by a bored cowboy riding night-watch before the range was fenced, given the reference to riding the prairies that he loved the best, which wouldn't be easy with barbwire fencing in the way. Why?"

"It's just so…" words failed her.

"Isn't it just?" he replied, swinging the rhythm of his fingers around to a slightly different tack. This time, he spoke in time to the music, but did not sing.

"Now O Lord please lend Thine ear,  
The prayer of the cattleman to hear;  
No doubt many prayers to Thee seem strange,  
But won't You bless this cattle range?

"Bless the round-up year by year  
And don't forget the growing steer;  
Water the land with brooks and rills  
For my cattle that roam a thousand hills.

"Now, O Lord, won't you be good  
And give our livestock plenty of food;  
And to avert a winter's woe  
Give Italian skies and little snow.

"Prairie fires won't You please stop,  
Let thunder roll and water drop,  
It frightens me to see the smoke,  
Unless it's stopped, I'll go dead broke.

"As you, O Lord, our herds behold--  
Which represents a sack of gold--  
I think at least five cents per pound  
Should be the price of beef year round.

"One more thing and then I'm through,  
Instead of one calf, give my cows two.  
I may pray different than some others, but then  
I've had my say, and now amen."

"How sweet…and a little strange," Sarah murmured. "What's that one called?"

"The Cattlemen's Prayer."

"Is there another like it?"

"Yes, called 'Cowboy's Prayer', and I heard both of them around 1910 or so." Before she could say anything else, he began to sing.

"Oh Lord, I've never lived where churches grow.  
I loved creation better as it stood  
That day You finished it so long ago  
And looked upon Your work and called it good.  
I know that others find You in the light  
That's sifted down through tinted window panes,  
And yet I seem to feel You near tonight  
In this dim, quiet starlight on the plains.

"I thank You, Lord, that I am placed so well,  
That You have made my freedom so complete;  
That I'm no slave of whistle, clock, or bell,  
Nor weak-eyed prisoner of wall and street,  
Just let me live my life as I've begun  
And give me work that's open to the sky;  
Make me a pardner of the wind and sun,  
And I won't ask a life that's soft or high.

"Let me be easy on the man that's down;  
Let me be square and generous with all.  
I'm careless sometimes, Lord, when I'm in town,  
But never let 'em say I'm mean or small!  
Make me as big and open as the plains,  
As honest as the hoss between my knees,  
Clean as the wind that blows behind the rains,  
Free as the hawk that circles down the breeze!

"Forgive me, Lord, if sometimes I forget.  
You know about the reasons that are hid.  
You understand the things that gall and fret;  
You know me better than my mother did.  
Just keep an eye on all that's done and said  
And right me, sometimes, when I turn aside,  
And guide me down the long, dim trail ahead  
That stretches upward toward the Great Divide."

Sarah was quiet for a while, letting Jareth's instrumental music fill the silence. There was nothing she had to say about that particular song--nothing she could add to the compellingly simple lyrics through commentary. Finally, she asked a question.

"Jareth, that's two prayers you've just sung or said. Do you have a religion?"

Jareth raised his eyebrows and looked at her. "What a silly question."

"So are you going to answer it?"

"Yes," he replied, "and yes. Though you probably wouldn't recognize it as such, I do have a religion. And no, I'm not going into details. Religion in the Underground is quite personal, and would it were so Here Above. It never ceases to amaze me that so many people have been slaughtered all in the name of a god that everyone involved agrees created them all, and diversely, should anyone actually pay attention to the texts."

Sarah opened her mouth to reply, but thought the better of it and instead asked, "Is there another song? More of a cow and horse song? Other than 'Git Along Little Dogies'. I hate that song."

"Why? It's a classic."

"For the same reason I hate 'John Jacob Jingleheimerschmidt'. I had to sing it every music class for two years in elementary school. Two years of the same seven songs." Sarah shuddered. "Even during Christmas, we sang those songs to the tunes of Christmas carols."

Jareth laughed, and, before Sarah could complain, began singing "Strawberry Roan."

"I was standin' 'round town just a-spendin' my time,  
Nothin' else to spend, not even a dime  
When a feller steps up and he says, "I suppose  
You're a bronc' bustin' man by the looks of your clothes."  
"You guessed me right, and a good one," I claim,  
"Do you happen to have ay bad ones to tame?"  
He says, "I've got one and a bad one to buck;  
At throwin' bronc riders he's had lots of luck."

"Well, it's oh, that strawberry roan,  
Oh, that strawberry roan!  
He says, "This old pony ain't never been rode,  
And the boy that gets on him is sure to get throwed."  
Oh, that strawberry roan!

"I gets all het-up and I ask what he pay  
To ride this old goat for a couple of days.  
He offers a ten spot. I says, "I'm your man,  
For the bronc never lived that I couldn't fan;  
No, the bronc never lived, nor he never drew breath  
That I couldn't ride till be starved plumb to death."  
He says, "Get your saddle, I'll give you a chance."  
We got in the buckboard and rode to the ranch.

"Well, it's oh, that strawberry roan,  
Oh, that strawberry roan!  
We stayed until morning, and right after chuck  
We goes out to see how that outlaw could buck.  
Oh, that strawberry roan!

"Well, down in the horse corral standing alone,  
Was that old caballo, old strawberry roan.  
His legs were spavined, and he had pigeon toes,  
Little pig eyes and a big Roman nose,  
Little pin ears that were crimped at the tip,  
With a big 44 branded 'cross his left hip;  
He's ewe-necked and old, with a long lower jaw,  
I could see with one eye he's a reg'lar outlaw.

"Well, it's oh, that strawberry roan,  
Oh, that strawberry roan!  
He's ewe-necked and old, with a long lower jaw,  
You can see with one eye he's a reg'lar outlaw.  
Oh, that strawberry roan!

"Well I puts on my spurs and I coils up my twine,  
I piled my loop on him, I'm sure feeling fine.  
I piled my loop on him, and well I knew then,  
If I rode this old pony, I'd sure earn my ten,  
I put the blinds on him, it sure was a fight,  
Next comes my saddle, I screws her down tight  
I gets in his middle and opens the blind,  
I'm right in his middle to see him unwind

"Well, it's oh, that strawberry roan,  
Oh, that strawberry roan!  
He lowered his old neck and I think he unwound  
He seemed to quit living down there on the ground  
Oh, that strawberry roan!

"He went up towards the east and came down towards the west,  
To stay in his middle I'm doin' my best,  
He's about the worst bucker I've seen on the range  
He can turn on a nickel and give you some change.  
He turns his old belly right up to the sun  
He sure is one sun-fishin' son of a gun!  
I'll tell you, no foolin', this pony can step,  
But I'm still in his middle and buildin' a rep

"Well, it's oh, that strawberry roan,  
Oh, that strawberry roan!  
He goes up on all fours and comes down on his side  
I don't know what keeps him from losin' his hide  
Oh, that strawberry roan!

"I loses my stirrup and also my hat,  
I starts pulling leather, I'm blind as a bat;  
With a big forward jump he goes up on high  
Leaves me sittin' on nothin' way up in the sky  
I turns over twice, and I comes back to earth  
I lights in a-cussin' the day of his birth  
I know there is ponies I'm unable to ride  
Some are still living, they haven't all died.

"Well, it's oh, that strawberry roan,  
Oh, that strawberry roan!  
I'll bet all my money the man ain't alive  
That can stay with old strawberry when he makes his high dive.  
Oh, that strawberry roan!"

Sarah laughed as the song wound to a rollicking end. She was going to say something, but Jareth cut her off.

"Oh, but it gets better, my dear," he grinned at her wickedly and began the parody "The Castration of the Strawberry Roan".

He got halfway through the song when Sarah fell off the bench she was sitting on, holding her sides and crying "Stop! Stop! Please! Enough!"

Jareth sighed and obliged her. He did enjoy that parody. It was so wickedly written. He let his fingers wander over the instrumental version of "Night Rider's Lament," humming with the three-quarters time and letting Sarah get hold of herself again.

"Oh, Lordy," Sarah wheezed finally, snickering again. "How old is _that_ song?"

"Oh, it's been around in several forms for years, many more than when it was recorded. The original song as you know it is credited to Curly Fletcher somewhere around 1915, though it may be older than that. With cowboy songs, dates can be tricky. The first known recording of the parody was in 1943, though I remember hearing parodies--usually in bars when the whiskey was flowing freely--for years before that." He thought for a minute then added, "There are some other songs, like 'The Old Chisolm Trail' that were around for years before anyone wrote them down--literally hundreds, if not thousands, of verses are out there for them. I've heard variations from Mexico up through Canada, including while riding on the Chisolm Trail."

Sarah shook her head. "It's still hard to believe you've been out here this long. Do you have anything…quieter? It's getting--" she yawned unexpectedly. "Late," she finished, blinking slowly.

"Of course. Let me think…" Jareth strummed his way through several chords and said, "This one is actually a rewrite of an older ballad, 'The Unfortunate Rake' (which was a rewrite of another ballad, but that's beside the point), and is called either 'Cowboy's Lament' or 'The Streets of Laredo'."

"As I walked out in the Streets of Laredo  
As I walked out in Laredo one day,  
I spied a young cowboy, all wrapped in white linen  
wrapped up in white linen and cold as the clay.

"'Oh, beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly,  
Play the Dead March as you bear me along;  
Take me to the graveyard, and lay the sod over me,  
For I'm a young cowboy, and I know I've done wrong.

"I see by your outfit, that you are a cowboy,  
These words he did say as I slowly stepped by-  
"Come, sit down beside me and hear my sad story;  
I was shot in the breast, and I know I must die.

"'Let sixteen gamblers come handle my coffin,  
Let sixteen cowboys come sing me a song.  
Take me to the graveyard and lay the sod over me,  
For I'm a poor cowboy, and I know I've done wrong.

"'My friends and relations they live in the Nation,  
They know not where their boy has gone.  
He first came to Texas and hired to a ranchman,  
Oh, I'm a young cowboy, and I know I've done wrong.

"'Go write a letter to my gray-haired mother,  
And carry the same to my sister so dear;  
But not a word shall ever you mention  
When a crowd gathers round you my story to hear.

"'There is another more dear than a sister,  
She'll bitterly weep when she hears I am gone.  
There is another who will win her affections,  
For I'm a poor cowboy, and they say I've done wrong.

"'Go gather around you a crowd of young cowboys,  
And tell them the story of this my sad fate;  
Tell one and the other before they go further  
To stop their wild roving before 't is too late.

"'Oh, muffle your drums, then play your fifes merrily;  
Play the Dead March as you bear me along.  
And fire your guns right over my coffin;  
There goes an unfortunate boy to his home.

"'It was once in the saddle I used to go dashing,  
It was once in the saddle I used to go gay.  
First to the dram-house, then to the card-house:  
Got shot in the breast, I am dying today.

"'Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin;  
Get six pretty maidens to bear up my pall;  
Put bunches of roses all over my coffin,  
Put roses to deaden the clods as they fall.

"'Then swing your rope slowly and rattle your spurs lowly,  
And give a wild whoop as you bear me along;  
And in the grave throw me, and roll the sod over me.  
For I'm a young cowboy, and I know I've done wrong.

"'Go bring me a cup, a cup of cold water,  
To cool my parched lips", the cowboy said;  
Before I returned", the spirit had left him  
And gone to its Giver - the cowboy was dead.

"We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly,  
And bitterly wept as we bore him along;  
For we all loved our comrade, so brave, young and handsome,  
We all loved our comrade, although he'd done wrong."

Sarah listened as the last notes faded away.

"No comment on that one?" Jareth asked, his voice light and teasing. He was expecting a question about what the cowboy had done wrong, but her response surprised him.

"No. It's so sad that I don't…" she sniffed, thinking of her father and mother.

"Ah," Jareth nodded, letting one last song come to his hands. Gently, he said, "Let's end with this one, then; lay the memories to rest." He began singing a slow, lazy, tired song called "The Night-Herding Song".

"Oh slow down, dogies, quit your roving 'round  
You've wandered and trampled all over the ground.  
Oh graze along, dogies, and feed kinda slow  
And don't be forever on the go,  
Move slow, dogies, move slow.

"I have circle-herded, trail-herded, night-herded too  
But to keep you together, that's what I can't do.  
My horse is leg-weary and I'm awful tired  
But if I let you get away I'm sure to get fired.  
Bunch up, litle dogies, bunch up.

"Oh say, little dogies, when you goin' to lay down?  
And quit this forever shiftin' around?  
My limbs are weary, my seat is sore  
Oh, lay down, dogies, like you've laid before,  
Lay down, dogies, lay down.

"Oh, lay still, dogies, since you have laid down  
Stretch away on the big open ground.  
Snore loud, little dogies, and drown the wild sound  
That'll go away when the day rolls 'round,  
Lay still, dogies, lay still."

Sarah chuckled as the song came to an end. It was later now, close to an hour had been spent out on the porch. She tipped her head to the side as Jareth leaned his guitar against the bench and smiled at her.

"You have a beautiful voice," she said, softly. "Thank you for sharing the songs tonight."

"Thank you, and you're welcome," he replied, stifling a chuckle. It wasn't often he was required to give thanks and acknowledgement in the same breath. "Any questions?

"Only wondering why there are so many cowboy songs," she replied, trying to think if she'd ever heard the reason for it. "Other than boredom when riding long distances."

"Singing helped keep cattle calm on drives and before fences. Night was a wonderful time for some damned cow to get spooked and stir up the entire herd--in uncertain weather, especially. Singing was a way to keep the cowboys awake, let those who were riding night-shifts where the others were, and keep the herd from ginning up to stampede." He smiled. "Self-preservation, as usual, dictated what was done by the cowboys."

"I know stampedes have to be dangerous--"

Jareth snorted. "Dangerous is a mild word for it." He pursed his lips and shook his head. "We'll discuss those later, my dear. For now, let's leave the songs as the end of the day."

Sarah nodded and looked at the guitar. It was beautifully worked with a simple inlay pattern around the sound-hole. The frets were old and worn, but the strings were good and the tuning pegs were definitely new.

"May I?" she asked, gesturing to the guitar. Jareth nodded consent, curious.

Sarah picked up the guitar and took a minute to get comfortable. Then she began to play a simple, beautiful song that Jareth knew well, as did almost anyone who learned to play classical guitar.

"'Romance de Amor', or 'Romanza'" he murmured as she played the opening bars. "Interesting choice."

"It's the only song I remember right now," she replied, concentrating on her fingers and the rhythm, which was a good bit slower than it should be played. "I loved it since I first heard it in the music store, so I had to learn to play it."

Jareth watched as she played, noting the problems with her fingering and technique. He considered mentioning it, but instead found himself saying something quite different.

"In the evenings, when there's some time after dinner, would you like to learn more songs, more accurate techniques?"

"I…I'd love to," she replied, lightly strumming an arpeggio-ed scale, each individual note getting the full 5-note arpeggio before moving to the next note in the scale.

"Nice C-sharp diminished," he murmured, seeing her scales were technically accurate, even though her song was not.

"Thank you. My teacher was adamant about learning scales," she grimaced. "Not my favourite."

"But necessary, just as learning to walk the horses is necessary before taking off on a canter, or worse, jumping blind. Scales are walking before you run." He stood up. "Shall we?" he motioned to the house. Sarah nodded, finished the scale and stood.

"That might be my problem," Sarah sighed and looked up at him. The questions from earlier in the day had been temporarily forgotten. Right now, everything was just how it should be in this moment. "Mom swore I started running the second I took my first step."

Jareth chuckled softly, holding his hand out for the guitar. She returned it to him as she walked inside, not hearing him as he whispered, "Somehow, I don't doubt it."

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

A/N2: Some songs, not all, are available to watch/listen to on YouTube. Others…happy googling. And no, I couldn't resist the Bowie songs or references. I do have my limits when it comes to temptation.


	6. Both Needing Something from Each Other

THAT SUMMER

**inspired by the song "That Summer" by Garth Brooks**

**Ch. 6 Both Needing Something from Each Other **

**Disclaimer: **Neither the song "That Summer" nor the movie _Labyrinth_ are mine, and I make no money or other profit from my writing. Would I could and did, but I can't and I don't.

**Rating: M **for mature themes & sometimes explicit scenes including, but not limited to, death, drugs/alcohol, abuse, and sex. If you can't handle these things, leave now.

**A/N:** This chapter has been long in the writing, mostly because Real Life has teeth, and retracting the fangs take a long, long time. This particular chapter has more of a bridge feeling to it, an interlude, if you will. Thanks, Mosin, for your help!

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Sarah rose and dressed for the day in what she knew Jareth would tell her was well-planned for riding the fenceline. She dreaded the walk down to breakfast, working together in the space that seemed to grow smaller and smaller in her mind, bumping elbows with the man she trusted, but wasn't entirely certain she could trust. Maybe she needed to call Doc. Maybe she needed to leave again.

But she was so tired. Tired of the constant moving, the constant struggle to keep body and soul together. Staying here was a way to come back to herself. Wasn't it?

Shoving aside the sting of these thoughts, Sarah forced herself to go downstairs and join her enemy-come-boss for breakfast. She'd even have to cook part of it.

At least he made good coffee. After the night she'd had, tossing and turning, she would need the caffeine.

During breakfast that morning, the mood had been quiet. She was still trying not to think of all the questions that were bothering her; he was trying to figure out what Doc knew that he and Gareth hadn't considered. Neither one wanted a long conversation or even much contact with the other. Amicable as it had been, breakfast had been brief and nearly silent, excepting only the salient information about the day's chores.

She talked with Lacey in the stables and got a few tips about the fences and the tools. Sarah listened carefully, intent upon what she would need to do. Saddling up and putting everything together required concentration. Though she had ridden years before, the motions required careful attention and nudges from memory to hands. The conversation with Lacey and the preparation had given her a brief respite from the questions that were nagging at the back of her mind. In many ways, she dreaded the ride. Pepper was a sweetheart, the land was incredibly beautiful in most places, the few places that weren't beautiful were breathtaking in its starkness, and the cattle were, by and large, fat and happy. Given that the fenceline was stationary, it was highly unlikely that she would be facing any crises today. Which meant she had some three hours, plus time mending fences, to work herself into a fine state of paranoia.

Logically, Sarah knew that Jareth was protective of his life Here Above. He did not want to destroy the outlet he had found and that he and Gareth both needed for sanity and for security of position. He would not, she didn't think, do anything to compromise her or her healing, which was going to be even more awkward than it already was if she couldn't figure out the answers to her questions. It had been obvious to her that Jareth was bothered by something as well, but he was reluctant to speak of it.

Thoughts of the oddly silent breakfast rose in front of her as she started down gate to the west as Lacey waved and turned east. As easy as it was to dismiss the suspicions while she was active, two or three hours of solitary riding along a fence were not conducive to ease of mind, especially when it came to Jareth and his protectiveness of this particular place.

Had there been spells in place that weaseled more information out of a newcomer than would ordinarily be given? Did Jareth know about the spells? Was it a simple compulsion? Was it deeper and more insidious?

As she rode, there were no answers. She couldn't begin the justification for the man she thought she knew, at least a bit, nor could she stop worrying. And then there was that _other_ question, the one that haunted her most: What if she hadn't been influenced by anything outside of herself? Had she really meant to spill all of that information, everything she'd told him? General as it had been, it was still more than she'd said to others--excepting Doc, but he had his own particular, very human, brand of magic around him.

Then again, if she was somehow compelled to tell the truth, to explain, wouldn't she have said a lot more to Doc? And to Jareth, too? She'd only covered the basics and some of the more terrifying aspects. She hadn't mentioned the men who had paid for her oral attentions, only to want to return the favour. She'd even let a few of them. They'd paid for that, too.

Pain and shame swept over her again, the thought of her first sexual pleasure achieved as part of a business transaction. Never mind that it had been without full sexual intercourse, the agony of the ecstasy remained.

Would she admit that, too? Would she admit to whoring even more of herself? Would she offer Jareth anything he wanted, so long as he didn't take this refuge from her?

Thankfully, fences were stationary objects, and regularly spaced. Had she been required to be more active in her search for missing or broken fencing, she would never have succeeded in spotting the two repairs she'd had to make. The brief flurry of activity was a blessed relief from her thoughts, though the respite ended far too soon.

Even less cheerful and confident than she had been after breakfast, Sarah turned Pepper and headed to her second duty, the stables.

***

Jareth watched the irrigation system carefully. Nothing was blocking the flow of water, the pressures at the pump were good, the water table would support a good harvest this year, and how in Hell had Doc known he wasn't Gareth?

Carefully, Jareth studied the memories in the crystal that usually stayed on his desk. Changing the way he viewed it, combing over mannerisms, speech patterns, auras, magical senses, and every other method he could think of--even including the recent sexual conquests Here Above and There Below, there was no answer forthcoming.

It was driving him nuts.

Perhaps that was the old man's intention: Cast doubt upon a deception so long in place. Create uncertainty when and where certainty was most valuable.

But to what end? Doc was adamant with his refusals to own precious little in the way of land and material goods. He only had an office because his nurse would not work without one. The office was smaller than the kitchen and dining room in the ranchhouse. The man wasn't a sadist, either, so it wasn't just for giggles and watching Jareth squirm like a worm on a hook. There was no sense of malice or material gain--nor even of magical and spiritual gain--about the man.

Doc just knew.

And it irritated Jareth to no end.

The water sang and surged through the pump and hoses, sputtering happily across the knee-high green stalks, oblivious to its master's deepening irritation.

In his blackening mood, Jareth paid no thought to Sarah, not even given the strained silence between them at breakfast.

***

Sarah shovelled yet more shit and thought yet more paranoid thoughts about Jareth's motives for helping her.

Jareth monitored more of his land and felt the old rage stirring within, wondering what Doc's motives could be for destabilizing the retreat he and Gareth had nurtured for so long.

Strangely, even though Sarah considered Jareth a potential part of her problem with suddenly spouting her pain to the world, Jareth never entertained the thought that it was his reactions to Sarah allowing for deeper observation of his individuality. He never thought more deeply of her needs than the haven he could provide for her, and she never wondered what he gained by teaching and sharing his home with her.


	7. Not Knowing Yet What That Might Be

THAT SUMMER

**inspired by the song "That Summer" by Garth Brooks**

**Ch. 7 Not Knowing Yet What that Might Be**

**Disclaimer: **Neither the song "That Summer" nor the movie _Labyrinth_ are mine, and I make no money or other profit from my writing. Would I could and did, but I can't and I don't.

**Rating: M **for mature themes & sometimes explicit scenes including, but not limited to, death, drugs/alcohol, abuse, and sex. If you can't handle these things, leave now.

**A/N:** My apologies for the extended wait. This chapter came in fits and starts, then demanded extra attention, too. BTW, Reunion is started, but not yet posted. The first chapter is stored on a different computer, and I've not retrieved it yet. Chapter 2 is in the works, but that particular fic will be very, very slowly posted, as I actually have to do research and not just make things up as I go along (like I usually do).

**A/N2:** FF-dotty-net was a bit wonky today with the document upload, so I had to figure a work-around. Hopefully, it actually worked and didn't create a giant mess that I'll have to delete and fix again later.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Sarah walked into the house, hearing Jareth in the kitchen already. She hesitated in the entry, boots off and sitting just inside on the mud rack, her hat hanging on the pegs by the door. Next to his. Her feet, as they had so many times in the labyrinth, worked without her conscious consent.

"Jareth?" she asked, her voice strained. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did, so I am certain you are capable of it," he replied absently.

Sarah ignored the gibe and continued. "Is there a compulsion spell here that would…that would make me tell you…everything I've told you?"

Jareth started to shake his head and then stopped. He whipped around and pinned her in place with a glare.

"Any spell cast before you arrived would have no effect upon you. _I have no power over you_, remember?" he hissed. His irritation with Doc's knowledge and motives was spilling over onto her, despite his intentions. At her stricken look, he closed his eyes and restated his answer. "Forgive me. Any spells here, because of your refusal to accept my authority over you then would be nullified now. Such a spell would be inherent within the wards and protections we maintain here, and I have never included a truth spell or a compulsion to tell speak of oneself and one's past. Gareth has not attempted such, either." He did not mention that, in accepting him as her employer she had accepted his power over her again for any new spells. It was the old ones that wouldn't affect her. "Why do you ask?"

"I've said so much about the last three years…" She shook her head. "Can I get back to you on that?" she asked, weakly.

"Go shower," he said, nodding. "You smell like a horse."

"No, I smell like horseshit, which is worse," she griped, turning and walking up the stairs. Shower first. That was the way of it. If she showered, she would have time to think in a neutral environment. If a shower in his house, using his water could be considered neutral.

In the shower, she thought about what he had admitted. She couldn't be affected by set spells or anything like it. But had he cast anything like that since then? No, he said he hadn't. So why did she tell him so much? She hadn't even told herself about these things once they were done. She'd just been living with them, managing to get from moment to moment, not wanting to reflect on what she'd done. Then, within a few minutes of seeing him again, she was telling him so all of that…

She didn't want to find out why, but she had to know. She needed to know. That was her downfall. Her point of pride. She had to know, to push, to go too far--what would happen if she said the words? What would happen if she took the challenge? What would happen if she won? What would happen if she pushed Xavier? What would happen if she left home? What would happen if…if…if.

If. She hated that word. She needed that word. Just as much as she needed Jareth's protection and the ranch.

Resolved with nothing, knowing less than when she started, she dressed and walked down stairs in clean jeans and a warm shirt.

Dinner was almost ready by the time she made it down the stairs.

"Done so soon?" she asked, the most innocuous thing she could think of.

"Leftovers," he replied, pulling down plates. "Of a sort. Everything that was still good and needed to be eaten was mixed together in a kind of stew. What we don't finish tonight goes to the scraps bucket."

"For the pigs. Right," Sarah nodded. She looked around. He'd even poured the sweet tea. She settled in her chair just as he pulled out his chair. "I didn't mean to leave you with dinner."

"No worry. All I did was heat and stir." He looked at her, fork in hand. "Sarah, what is bothering you?"

"Why did I tell you everything?" she blurted. She groaned the moment the words left her lips.

"There are no spells, no wards, nothing that would force you to do so. I did not ask, nor would I. Therefore, you wanted to tell me." Jareth seemed tired.

"No," she shook her head. "No. Why would I want to tell you…all of that? It doesn't make sense!"

Jareth was silent for several minutes. They both ate a few bites, took a few sips of tea. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and looked at her.

"Sarah, how many people have you seen in the past three years who know you? Truly know you? Not what you like for dessert or other rubbish, but _you_. The stubborn, opinionated, intelligent, innocent, adventurous, independent girl? Woman? The ability you have to smile and laugh, even when the situation is most dire? The acceptance you give to any who meet you?" He paused, but when she didn't do anything but stare at him, he went on. "Exactly. I am the only person who has seen you in any of those ways. I am a familiar face after years of strangers and subsistence. I offered you a place to stay and a safety you have not experienced for a very long time. You wanted to speak. You did."

"No," she protested. "I didn't. And I didn't want to think about it, either, but now I've told you and Doc…" Her words trailed off as the tears filled her eyes. She couldn't speak.

"Finish your supper," he said, tucking in to his own plate. "We can talk later on the porch." He looked at her wounded eyes and closed his own. He was faced with having to explain himself, the reason for his curt replies. He hated explaining himself, no matter how much he liked talking. "I have been preoccupied with the question of Doc's insights."

"Oh." She ate the bite on her fork, ignored since Jareth had started speaking, and chewed slowly. After she swallowed, she looked at him. "You hate it, don't you, that he sees you."

"Hate is a strong word." He looked at the ceiling, perhaps for an answer. "It is dangerous for me, and for Gareth. It is fear of us, of our oneness that keeps so many from attempting to kills us. To lose that…"

Sarah nodded, not really understanding the depth of the dangers he faced as a king, no matter that he had enumerated them for her a few days before. Neither Jareth nor Sarah was inclined to talk for a long while, concentrating on eating and wondering how they would go about negotiating the minefield that seemed to have blossomed between them in less than twenty-four hours.

Cleaning up after dinner was just as silent, the promise of conversation hovering over them as they washed and dried and put away. Neither one was particularly enthused with the idea of discussion and resolution, if any resolution was to be had, but both sensed something important here building between them.

Jareth nodded to the door, but said, "I'll get the guitar."

Sarah almost protested, wanting to make the conversation short and to the point. Somehow, the thought of music made things seem a bit easier. A buffer between them would most likely be welcome, given the way he had hissed at her earlier, like an enraged cat.

She tugged on her jacket and boots, put her hat on her head to prevent losing body heat that way, and headed out to the benches. The night was amazingly clear, beautiful and bright with the stars like spilled diamonds on black velvet. Every so often, a soft lowing would come from the fields, faintly answered by another low, mournful cattle call or the wicked whicker of a horse's words.

Sarah chuckled at her descriptions. She was becoming fanciful again, just from admiring the night sky and the beauty around her. When Jareth's shadow crossed dimmed the light from the door, she saw his curious look. Shaking her head, she dismissed her amusement and settled in to listen for a little while. He did not disappoint.

Fingers pulled a gentle melody from the strings, a slow waltz that was more commonly heard from a string quartet or piano. Strangely, it fitted the mood of the evening.

"Will you sing the next one, Jareth?" Sarah asked softly as the last note faded in the breeze.

"An exchange," he proposed. "You answer a question in exchange for a song with lyrics."

Sarah bit her lip, then nodded. "What's your question?"

"Why are you so frightened of me knowing your life?"

"I don't…know," she managed. She shook her head. "No, that's a lie. I do know. I just…I know how _they_ all looked at me when…when it was over. How I looked in the mirror when I got up and cleaned off. I don't want to see that look on your face." At his raised eyebrow, she explained. "The look of horror at what you've done, who you've let near you…of shame. I've seen nothing but that look in the mirror for so long…I couldn't stand it from you, Jareth."

"I am hardly so magnificent that the thought of my opinion can bring you to such emotional outbursts," he noted, carefully neutral in his tone.

"No, you're more important than that. You're the last part of the time before everything went bad." She laughed shortly, the sound unusually harsh. "You are part of my innocence, Jareth, no matter how completely silly or ironic that may be. I…I don't want to lose that. To lose you."

Jareth didn't give her the simplistic and expected reply of 'you won't', because he couldn't promise her that any more than she could accept such words as true. Instead, he gave her something much sweeter, a song that spoke of pain and beauty found in the West during the pioneer days and after. With a mental thanks to a much-admired cowboy and singer, Jareth began to sing "A Cowboy Was Born".

Sarah closed her eyes and listened to the words, from the birth of a child on the Plains with no one but her husband to tend to her to the young man jumping from a bucking horse in the middle of a muddy arena. From the slow, sorrowful beat to the compellingly simple lyrics, she wondered if Jareth wasn't telling her something. If he was, she didn't understand it.

"How sad," she murmured as the last note faded, "but how wonderful."

"Wonderful is not what I would call such sentiment," Jareth snorted.

"That life went on. That cowboys and the life continued through time. That the history wasn't forgotten, I guess, even if the circumstances changed." Sarah shrugged. "Continuity. Community. A place to belong--how can that be sad?"

"If such things cannot be negative, Sarah," Jareth began, the tone of his voice warning her she would not like the question, "why did you run so far, so fast?"

Sarah sucked in her breath and stared at him.

"I told you about Xavier--"

"And yet you said nothing about you, just the circumstances around you. The question is deeper than that--what inside of you made you rip yourself from everything you knew to chase a dream you knew would fail?"

"That I knew would…" Shock made her words trail off. Indignation flared and spiced her retort. "Jareth, you're not making any sense, which is normal, but this is weird even for you!"

Jareth shook his head and began playing a slow Spanish tune that lingered in the blood and tears like salt. "Know yourself, Sarah. If you get nothing else from my home, learn yourself again, just as you learned in the Labyrinth." The song filled the uncomfortable void between them for a several minutes, winding to a poignant end. "Why, Sarah?"

Sarah stared at him for a long minute, then stood and walked to the door.

"I don't know, Jareth. I don't." Shoulders slumped, she opened the door. "I'll try to figure it out." She stepped inside.

"Sarah--" The door closed on his words. "Silly girl, to never see what was right before her."

Leaving Sarah to her own devices, Jareth played for nearly an hour before standing and walking inside. He had no idea that the music on the breeze lulled Sarah to a thinking sleep, one that would nudge her into realizing everything he wanted to know.


	8. Til He Came to Her One Evening

THAT SUMMER

**inspired by the song "That Summer" by Garth Brooks**

**Ch. 8 'Til He Came to Her One Evening**

**Disclaimer: **Neither the song "That Summer" nor the movie _Labyrinth_ are mine, and I make no money or other profit from my writing. Would I could and did, but I can't and I don't.

**Rating: M **for mature themes & sometimes explicit scenes including, but not limited to, death, drugs/alcohol, abuse, and sex. If you can't handle these things, leave now.

**A/N:** My apologies for the extended wait. BTW, Reunion is started, but I have discovered it will take _considerably_ more effort to write that fic than originally thought. And it will require serious dedication - none of the pick-up-put-down that I've needed for the last while. So, yes, I still plan to write it, just as I plan to continue all of the fics I've got in progress now…but it takes time. Thank you for your patience!

TS=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+TS

Sarah woke the next morning and rose, not reluctant to start the day, but wary of what would happen when she walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. Jareth's words had stung her, burrowing in and not letting her dodge the question.

Why had she chased a dream that she knew would fail? Why chase her mother's dream? It wasn't a surprise to her that she had failed. She had known she would. He was right about that. Everything about her trip to New York, from avoiding the pimps waiting at the bus station for new girls to the rounds of auditions that never quite worked out the way she thought they might, had been a disaster. Being Linda's daughter didn't make her important or good - she knew that, too. She was not good at the acting, singing, dancing - anything about the theatre. Yet she had tried.

She kept thinking as she dressed, wondering what other excuses she had made for running, for abandoning Toby. Was Xavier hurting Karen now? She doubted it. He had liked the helpless Karen, who was a very good housewife, but not much for taking care of herself. And Toby - Toby had adored him. Then again, Toby was young enough that his father would be a distant memory. Sarah's rebelliousness, her age, had been a threat to him.

Still, maybe it was time to call home, just to find out. But not if Toby answered. Letting Toby know where she was, hear her voice seemed like a bad idea. No. She couldn't risk calling home. Maybe calling Mr. Hughes would get the information she wanted. But she'd called on him enough, first to talk, then to sell off the things she had, and finally to say goodbye, since she had nothing left of her old life. No, when she thought about it, she didn't need to know. It was good that she'd cut ties with what had been home for so long. She liked being rootless.

The morning trip down the stairs and into the kitchen was short, so Sarah was able to pause at the door long enough to watch Jareth standing at the coffee pot, waiting for the first drips to come through.

"I like not having a home," she said softly. Jareth turned quickly, studied her face, and nodded.

"That's a beginning," he said, voice still rough from sleep. "The usual?" he asked, motioning to the countertop. The necessities for breakfast were scattered over it.

"I'll make the pancakes," Sarah replied, smiling. Without talking or thinking more about last night's conversation, she started stirring and chopping. Pancakes, eggs, and fruit. Bacon, of course. There was always some form of meat with breakfast. "What's on the schedule for today?" she asked.

"Much the same as yesterday, though I do want you to practice roping again. The stalls, the fenceline, the feed." He poured two cups of coffee and watched her work. Sarah had relaxed more around him. He doubted she knew the hardest parts of her journey were yet to come.

"Roping isn't easy," Sarah griped, pouring batter onto the hot griddle. "And with what I'm doing, I really don't understand why I need to learn it."

"Because you are here, you are working for me, and one of my hands is planning on riding rodeo soon. Most of summer is repair and building, preparing for winter. One of those things we must do is keep skills sharp - or learn them. Now, if you know how to roof a house or the barn, please, feel free to do so."

"You know I have no idea how to do that, Jareth. I can do things inside, or in a garden, or even in the barn, but I can't do major construction." She watched the batter, feeling a bit like a kicked puppy at that. "Are you still in a bad mood?"

"No." Jareth took another sip of coffee and added, "I demand nothing of you that I have not required of myself or any others who have stayed here. Remember that."

"Maybe not," Sarah muttered, sliding pancakes from the griddle and flipping them carefully. "But you're really old."

"I may be old, but I am not deaf," he said, voice stern, but unable to keep the smile from his lips. He moved beside her and started working on the bacon. "Besides, watching you try to rope a stationary calf is entertaining. We do need something to liven up the day."

Sarah muttered something about the spatula and what he could do with it, but at his wicked grin and suggestively waggled eyebrows, gave up.

"You are a sick man," she grumbled.

"My dear, you are still quite innocent," he laughed. "Now, let's get this to table."

Plates were served, breakfast was eaten, and the leftovers were poured into the slops bucket in short order. Sarah's day hadn't started any differently than before, except that she had learned a little bit about herself. She smiled and walked to the door, ready to get moving.

TS***TS

Sarah walked up the steps, feeling quite smug for mucking the stable more quickly today. A little bit faster every day, but without any lag in quality. That was the goal. The less time she had to spend shovelling, the more she had to spend doing other things.

The stars weren't quite out. The sun wasn't quite down. The light was pretty and soft, a steely colour around the house. She turned and looked out from the front porch. The work was hard, harder than she'd had before, but it felt good. She was sore, tired, her hands hurt even through the work gloves, her feet hurt, and her back felt like she'd been pretzeled, but it felt good.

Behind her the door opened and Jareth stepped out, holding two cups of coffee, thermos tucked under one arm.

"For me?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"Yes," he replied. "You have foalwatch."

"What?" She'd never heard that term before, and thought it sounded vaguely menacing.

"You get to sleep in the stable tonight. Ebony is almost ready to foal. She's old - not that she took that into account, silly thing - but she managed to spend some time with the stallion this year. I worry about her." He paused. "Have you ever helped a horse foal?"

"Um, no." Sarah was quite nervous now. This was far beyond her paygrade. "Do you usually do this?"

"No. Most of the horses do quite well since they are younger mares who don't have the same health and age issues as this one, and they are polite enough to deliver during the day. Ebony is really too old to have bred, but what's done is done." Those words sounded very familiar to Sarah. He seemed to like them. "Silly horse. But she is a sweet darling and we would be very upset if something happened to her during the birth."

"How old is she?" Sarah remembered that horses had life-spans based entirely upon their breeds, the toughness of the breed, and the care they received throughout their lives. Jareth may work his horses, but he cared for them better than many humans cared for their own children.

"Seventeen. Like I said, too old for this. Poor girl." Jareth sat beside Sarah on the bench. "Here." He handed her one of the cups of coffee. Sarah took a sip and waited. "We'll take this in shifts. You stay with her until midnight, then come in and wake me. I'll stay up with her the rest of the night."

"You need to sleep, too," she pointed out, not entirely sure she liked this idea.

"I have other resources," Jareth reminded her. "A day or two on short sleep won't bother me. You, however, could become quite ill with several days of short sleep."

"True." Sarah sipped her coffee again and watched the sky darken. This place was magical, present company included. "Heard from Doc yet?"

"He called earlier today. The labs were done rapidly at his request, but he said nothing will be completely certain until next week, though he does have a preliminary diagnosis he will bring by tomorrow. He stressed that this is preliminary and the labs were not completed." Jareth looked at her. "Are you ready to go in?"

"Not quite," she replied, dropping her eyes from the sky to the boards under her boots. Magic disappeared in the face of reality. Whether she liked being rootless or not, not knowing if she were really healthy was more than a bit of an anchor. She was stuck here until she was healthy, at the very least. She owed Jareth for the clothes and food. She had to stay, at least that long. She snuck a glance at him under the shadow of her hat. His face was in profile, looking out over his domain. He was right. She needed to heal first.

After she healed, what then? Was she supposed to leave? Take severance pay and head out into the unknown? Learn herself, as she had been told to do just the night before? And what qualified as knowing herself? Was it what she wanted? Why she did things? Where she was going?

Of all the questions she had, none came with answers. She remembered a saying she'd heard about children, that they didn't come with instruction manuals. It really was a pity that life didn't come with a manual. That could've been useful.

"I guess we should go in. Eat," she said. She found herself shortening her sentences, fitting in with the local quiet. Somehow, it felt right.

"Yes." Jareth looked her over. "Shower. Change into something more comfortable. Foalwatch is lonely - would you like to take my guitar with you?"

"Please," she replied, polite in her answer because it was his guitar, something he obviously valued.

"I'll tune it for you while you're changing." She could have tuned it herself, and he knew that, but she accepted the gesture for what it was: an offer to make her life a little easier, but only in ways that wouldn't affect her healing. Sarah knew how to tune a guitar, but that took time and concentration when she needed to let her mind roam and consider who and what she was - what she wanted to become. Jareth was kind that way.

"What about dinner?" she asked.

"I had Dianne put together a roast pan for us. I slid it into the oven about an hour ago. You have another hour before it's done. Vegetables are in the pan." He looked at her. "Unless you don't want to get a hot shower?"

Sarah saw his hair was slightly damp, then sighed. "I'll go now." She tipped the coffee cup to her lips and quickly drank the near half-cup that remained. "Is the rest of the coffee for me?"

"Until midnight - though if you want to sleep, I would suggest none after about ten." He handed the thermos to her. It was old, made of heavy metal - possibly steel or an aluminum alloy - and glass, a good thermos, and filled with a good pot's worth of coffee it weight considerably more than it did when empty. "Go on, then. I'll tune Karia for you."

"Karia?"

"The guitar. She has such a beautiful voice that I named her. Or Gareth did. One of us did, at any rate." He shrugged. "And so she is Karia. Treat her well."

"Of course," Sarah replied. She walked into the house then, leaving hat and boots at the door before heading up the stairs to her shower. There was nothing odd to her about naming the guitar, or for such a reason. If anything, Sarah found it comforting to know that Jareth had such an affectionate nature that he named his guitar, even if for no other reason than the guitar was beautiful. Beauty deserved a name. Maybe one day, she would be beautiful enough to take back her own name - or earn a new one.

TS***TS

Jareth walked out to the barn around midnight. He saw Sarah sitting quietly in the barn, Karia over her knee and fingers gently pulling a haunting melody from the precious guitar. He stood to the side and waited until she finished the song.

"You're playing has improved," he said softly into the silence.

Sarah turned quickly to face him, then smiled. "Thank you. I think my hands remember more than I do," she admitted. She offered him Karia. He accepted with a small smile.

"Muscle memory is quite useful. Your riding is getting better by the day, too, and most of that is because the muscles know what to do, even if your mind isn't giving the orders."

"Unfortunately for my muscles, memory improves more quickly than endurance," Sarah said with a grimace. "I keep hoping that my legs won't feel like permanently bowed spaghetti when I dismount, but so far, no luck."

"Mm. That is the disadvantage of relearning or refreshing a skill, especially after a few years have passed. Though it could be considerably worse," he added, musing aloud for her benefit.

"I'm quite certain it could," she replied, stretching. "Everything was quiet for the first part of the night. I'll see you in the morning."

"In the morning," he said, voice soft. She couldn't see him watching her as she left, eyes carefully trained on her back as she walked back to the house. Then again, she didn't need to see it. She could feel his eyes on her, and the feeling left her oddly comforted. She might be in some physical discomfort, but Jareth would never intentionally harm her. She had come to him in need, and he was not a cruel man. Not here, anyway. Who knew what he was really like in his homeland.

Sarah changed out of her clothes and curled up for a good night's sleep. Unfortunately for her beauty rest, she wasn't asleep long before a crystal floated into her room, a soft crystal song playing a message from Jareth.

"_Sarah, hurry. Ebony is foaling, but something's wrong. I need you down here. Now." _Even though he hadn't yelled, the urgency in his voice came through. She had to hurry.

Sarah pulled on her jeans and boots, not bothering to change out of her nightgown. The stable was a short run away, and she skidded to a halt in front of the loose box where Ebony had been for the night.

"What is it?" she panted, eyes wild.

"The foal is breach," Jareth said, "and I need you to hold her head, keep her calm. I'll take care of the rest."

Sarah moved to hold Ebony's head, murmuring soft words that meant nothing to her. After a minute, she asked, in the same low voice, "Couldn't you use magic?"

"No," Jareth grunted, his body mostly obscured by the body of the horse between them. His attention was completely focused on the horse and foal in front of him. "Too dangerous for the foal. Ebony might panic. Sensitive."

From that, Sarah strung together that the magic he could use as easily as breathing was dangerous for babies in this world, and that Ebony was an unusually sensitive horse to his magics, perhaps even more sensitive now that she was in labor. Or was that in foal? Whatever.

It seemed to take forever, but then time always seems to drag when something intense and difficult is being done. Even for horses, giving birth is intense, so Sarah was only mildly surprised when Jareth told her she could still get a few hours of sleep before she had to be up.

"I'll go in a bit," she murmured, watching the wobbly little foal kneel, then figure out what his feet and legs were for. She was there with him, surging upward a few times before his knees locked and took his weight, his legs spraddled and splayed awkwardly under his tiny weight. It was only another few minutes before he took a tentative slide-step forward, toward his mother. Ebony had taken almost as long as the little colt to recover and stand, and she was definitely drooping as she licked his tiny face. Just as he managed to wobble to her belly and lift his head to start nursing, Jareth spoke.

"Would you like to name him?" he asked softly, voice almost inaudible against the sounds of the barn.

Sarah looked up at him, almost spoke, then simply nodded. She looked at the colt and saw that he looked almost nothing like his mother. The technical term was inadequate at the moment, for Ebony was definitely mothering him.

"Do you know what he'll look like when he's full grown?" she asked, seeing the pale silver coat and hoping he kept it.

"White, with hints of silvery-grey in his mane and fetlocks." He thought for a minute. "Perhaps I'll allow him to be the herd stallion. He certainly has the bloodlines for it - and the heartiness for Montana's climate."

Sarah nodded, stepped closer to the box, and to Jareth. So many names would be so easy - Silver, Lightning, Snow - but none of them seemed right. He wasn't supposed to be here, not with Ebony as old as she was. He looked nothing like his mother, obvious horse characteristics aside. He was, in his own little way, magical.

"Warlock," she whispered, content with her choice.

Jareth looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"Warlock, indeed," he murmured in reply. He didn't explain.

TS=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+TS


	9. Hot Cup of Coffee & a Smile

THAT SUMMER

**inspired by the song "That Summer" by Garth Brooks**

**Ch. 9 Hot Cup of Coffee & a Smile**

**Disclaimer: **Neither the song "That Summer" nor the movie _Labyrinth_ are mine, and I make no money or other profit from my writing. Would I could and did, but I can't and I don't.

**Rating: M **for mature themes & sometimes explicit scenes including, but not limited to, death, drugs/alcohol, abuse, and sex. If you can't handle these things, leave now.

**A/N:** My apologies for the extended wait. BTW, Reunion is started, but I have discovered it will take _considerably_ more effort to write that fic than originally thought. And it will require serious dedication - none of the pick-up-put-down that I've needed for the last while. So, yes, I still plan to write it, just as I plan to continue all of the fics I've got in progress now…but it takes time. Thank you for your patience!

**A/N 2:** *text* indicates a language shift from English to the native Blackfoot language. Any and all details regarding Blackfoot traditions, etc., are vaguely researched and draw from generalities only_. Any and all mistakes are mine._

TS=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+TS

Afternoon was here, and it was time to go. The entire day had dragged by with excruciating slowness. Waiting was a tedious game, even when - or perhaps especially when - accompanying long, hot hours of manual labor. Sarah enjoyed the work, but she had been worrying for the past few days. Doc had a preliminary diagnosis, but he'd stalled, insisting on waiting for the full report to come in. So she waited. And worried.

Today, though, today she would get the results she needed. And a trip to town with Jareth. If she managed just right, she'd get her hands on those two scheming vultures who'd sent her to Jareth's with more lingerie and flimsy nighties than Fredrick's of Hollywood.

In retrospect, she wasn't really that angry with them. She wasn't exactly horrible to look at - she'd always known that, even though she wouldn't call herself beautiful - and she was young. That alone was enough to make the old biddies hope. She was a little disappointed, especially after all the information Gracie had given her about the town and the attitude that, supposedly, everyone shared. They wanted Jareth to have a kid, and she seemed like a possible mate for him. If it weren't so sweet, their affection for the Kings, she would still be angry. She still wasn't keeping any of it. Not with a pending report from Doc.

Even practicing guitar and watching Warlock prance around wasn't keeping that feeling of doom from creeping up on her. Practicing roping was never less than a disaster, so thinking about that only made things worse. The trip to town was long enough, and Jareth was driving.

She glanced over to the driver's side of the truck and couldn't help but smile. She'd gotten used to Jareth in jeans and a Western shirt, boots and hat. But driving?

"What are you smirking about?" came the curious question.

"You. Driving." She giggled. "It's just so…wrong."

"I assure you, my driving is excellent," Jareth replied primly. Sarah only laughed harder.

"Yeah, but you're _you_, and you're _driving_." She tried not to giggle again, and it worked, for the most part.

"Amazing. Two blindingly obvious statements that are somehow expected to convey a sense of wonder at a seemingly incomprehensible event." He looked over at her. "Your grandparents weren't more than a twinkle in their parents' eyes when I began driving these contraptions, young lady. Hell, I even designed a few cars for…" He stopped, seeing her eyes nearly bulge out of her head and her jaw drop. "Well, you try and figure it out."

"Seriously?" Sarah yelped. "You designed _cars_?"

"And built the prototypes. From the engines out," he confirmed, smiling a bit. Sarah blinked several times, trying to take it in. "Now, does my driving still disturb you that much?"

"No," Sarah managed. "But I think my view of the world just got a little twisted."

"Enlighten me," Jareth said, stifiling a sigh.

"It's kinda hard to explain. I work with you, I see you cooking and cleaning and playing Karia, and - and all sorts of things. But the vision of you in front of a car with a wrench in your hand and grease under your nails, with the hood up…it's just…it's like the first time I saw the Fieries. Weird."

"Lovely. I'm now on par with a group of beings that routinely dismember themselves and play with the pieces." His voice was dry enough to carry a warning about open flame.

"I didn't mean it like that," she protested.

Jareth flashed her a grin. "I know. Still. Work on those similes, will you?"

"Jerk," she said, smiling at him in return. Jareth only chuckled.

Several quiet miles later, Jareth broke the silence.

"Sarah, would you like to see Doc while I take care of a few things in town? It isn't that I want to leave you alone for the news, but this will allow more privacy than if I join you. Doc's office is very small, only two rooms. The walls are…thin."

Sarah looked out her window, thinking. She wanted Jareth nearby, but she didn't want him to hear the news until she had time to digest it. Even if that was only a few minutes.

"I…think I'd like to talk with Doc alone first." She looked at him and gave him a weak smile. She managed that, at least. "I'd also like to join you on the errands you had, but…I kinda need to hear this first."

"I understand." Jareth flipped his turn signal on and cut across the deserted road. "Doc's office is here, just across from the old Parkins homestead. He's close to town, but not in town. I've never asked why." That last was a warning. Sarah didn't need any more information. Neither did Jareth. He pulled in to the gravel lot and stopped next to the door. Sarah didn't get out.

"I'm scared, Jareth," she finally said, unable to look at him, unable to get out of the truck. Jareth just waited. "There are so many things…"

"I know," Jareth replied in the voice she'd heard him use with Warlock and Ebony. He was soothing her like he did with them. She wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

TS*=-*=-*=-TS

**Earlier that afternoon…**

Doc hung up the phone and shook his head. The news wasn't good.

Despite his original belief that Sarah was not in danger of a debilitating disease, she was. So far, her body had fought it off, but there was no denying it. He'd run the test twice and then sent it to the nearest hospital for confirmation.

The phone rang. He lifted the receiver to his ear, hoping to hear good news. They'd mixed the blood samples. There was a malfunction that produced many false positives and they needed a retest batch. The lab tech was hallucinating.

"Hello, Grandfather," came the cheerful young voice. Young was relative. All of his grandchildren were in their twenties.

"Hello yourself, *little one*." He was determined to be pleasant.

"Grandma has been asking for you. It's time for you to come home." So much for the pleasantness.

"Put your grandmother on the phone, Tyler."

"She's busy - "

"No, grandson. You will give the receiver to her now. No arguments." The authoritarian tone was at odds with the usual warmth of his voice and personality. A shuffling noise sounded in from the handset and he stifled a sigh. When would they learn?

"Eli?" he heard. Her voice wasn't as smooth as it had been. There was an old woman's reediness to it now, but the timbre still warmed his heart. She was kind enough to use the name he preferred while he was away. But then, that was her way.

"Good evening, Ana," he said, using his pet name for her. She responded as she always had, with a soft "phst" of annoyance. By now, it was an old and much appreciated joke between them. "I know you haven't been asking for me. You use the phone when you want. What is it that they want now?"

"For you to move back to the reservation. They are children, *husband*. So young. They don't understand how you can stay so far from us." Her voice was soft and filled with understanding. Of all people, she would understand, even better than he did.

"I will be there this weekend," he finally said, his voice soft. "I will tell them then. Will you be there?"

"Of course," she replied with a soft laugh. "I have always been here."

"And I have appreciated that for longer than even I knew," he assured her. "They may not speak to me after the telling."

"I will handle any of their nonsense." With the hint of steel in her voice, he knew she would.

"*Farewell, wife*."

"*Farewell, husband*."

Doc hung up and his other hand dug into the bottom desk drawer, pulling out a bottle and a glass. Without realizing it, he set the bottle on the desk and the glass was suddenly beside it.

Doc stared at his demon. The thirst came to him again. He thought of his wife, of the misery he'd given her. Of his children. Of the only solution that had let him conquer the aching need for the bite and oblivion of the whiskey. Hands trembled on the old desk Nurse Highhorse made him keep.

They wanted him back. If they knew what he had done while he lived with his wife, surrounded by the seeming hopelessness of the reservation - hopelessness that he had once believed in more than his religion - they would never see him again, no matter what tribal law and tradition required in the way of rational discussion and understanding.

In two days, they would know. The thirst, the craving for sweet oblivion called to him like one of the white man's sirens. Through sheer will, he managed to put the glass and bottle back in the bottom drawer, unopened.

Forty-two years since his last drink. From that same bottle. Forty-two years, six months, and eighteen days.

Doc slid the drawer closed and found he could breathe again. His hands were steady once more. The thirst was still there, but he could deny it now.

He had to. He had to talk to the Old One and Sarah. His demon bottle would still be there when he returned.

He would fight another day.

TS*=-*=-*=-TS

**In front of Doc's office, that afternoon…**

Sarah opened the door of the truck and managed to put one foot on the ground. She took a deep breath and slid out of the cab. She stood and turned to close the door when Jareth reached over and took her hand.

"If you need me, you need only say my name. I will hear." There was something in his voice, in the eyes that were shadowed by his customary Stetson that made her throat close and her eyes tear up. She could only nod. He squeezed her hand once, then let go.

Sarah stepped back and closed the door of the cab. With a resolute turn, she walked to the door of Doc's office, which also seemed to be part of his house, or near it. She was too nervous to realize it, but Jareth waited until she was inside before he put the truck in gear and drove away.

"Sarah?" Doc said, meeting her in the waiting room. In reality, it was both his office and the area patients came in, but he always thought of it as the waiting room. "I was going over tonight…" He stopped when he saw her face.

Sarah was terrified. She hadn't been able to wait any longer, and Jareth had mentioned that he would bring her into town sooner or later. He had hoped for later.

"I…couldn't wait. Ja-ay had mercy on me. If it's okay?" She could hear the worry, the fear in her own voice and wanted to apologize for being such a whimp, but she barely got that out.

"Of course," Doc said, his voice softer than she'd heard. "Come with me. More privacy in the exam room."

Nodding, Sarah followed. She wanted to turn and run. To beg him just to tell Jareth and never let her know. But she couldn't. She'd been running for so long, it had become her default response to unpleasantness, potential or real. It had taken seeing Jareth again to remember she was stronger than that. Wasn't she? Yes. Yes, she was strong enough to stand on her own, at least here with Doc.

The room was much like every other doctor's exam room she'd been in, but earthier, with traces of Doc's ancestry here and there around the room. It suited him well. She sat down on the chair and watched as he picked up a file and sat next to her.

"Sarah, I will not lie to you. The news could be better. It could also be much, much worse. You have the cold sores - Herpes Simplex II - and tests confirmed genital warts. Neither of those are curable with our medicines." He paused. "There is one more thing. You tested positive for syphilis. We can treat this, but it will never 'go away' permanently. The symptoms and progression can be halted, but it's entirely possible that you will remain contagious - with our medicines. Other than those three things, dehydration, and malnutrition this past year, you are in good health…"

The room didn't have enough air. Doc was still talking, something about good health and treatable, be careful when, and she was sick. It wasn't the worst possible news, but it was bad enough. Having children wasn't really an option now. Between getting pregnant and delivering a child, she'd most likely infect at least one other person, possible two. And syphilis never really went away. It could go dormant, but that was all. Images of her life from that moment on spun out before her - the only constant was shame as she faced and lost men who could love her. Loneliness and uncertainty. There were some risks she could never ask anyone to take for her. And she wouldn't. Never. Not once.

"Sarah? Sarah?"

She turned and looked at Doc, eyes huge. She didn't even realize she was shaking.

"This was too much, too quickly," Doc said, regret in his voice. "I should have spoken more gently - "

"No!" Sarah blurted, shaking her head. "No. This…I know now. I know. And…I can tell…and whatever we can do to treat…we should."

Doc watched her carefully. She had no idea what he was seeing, but it couldn't be good. She forced herself to sit up straight and lift her chin. This was far from the worst situation she'd been in, and Doc cared, if only because she was his patient.

_I have been to the castle at the heart of the labyrinth,_ she told herself, _and I have faced many fears, including the Hall of Illusions. I have the strength to do this. I will do this. Because I _will_ it._

"Thank you, Doc," she said, more calmly now. "Don't worry about telling Jay. I'll tell him myself, when he gets back." She licked her lips. "What are the treatment options available?"

Doc smiled, no little impressed with the way she had pulled together so quickly. He didn't tell her he'd already reviewed everything about treatment, that she hadn't heard him. Instead, he quietly repeated the options, seeing her grey eyes thoughtful and intent.

This one, yes, she would survive. She would heal. He whispered a prayer that she would one day be appreciated for all that she was - and all she would become.

TS***TS

Jareth picked Sarah up close to dinner time, but, at her request, didn't head straight back to the ranch.

"Can we eat dinner in town?" she asked, voice subdued and no little stressed.

"Of course." He didn't press for information. Instead, he drove to the diner where Sarah had eaten while Jane and Gracie filled her head with information.

The ride was quiet, Sarah unwilling to break the silence, thoughts of what to say and how to say it running through her head. Jareth, well, who knew his reasons for silence? Sarah didn't, and she didn't ask for an explanation, either.

They pulled up in front of the diner, Jareth turning to park in the little lot that was mostly full this time of day. He turned off the ignition and reached for his door handle.

"Jareth, I need to tell you…what Doc had to say," Sarah said, voice brittle. It matched the way she felt.

"Very well," Jareth replied, and waited.

"It wasn't good, but it could've been a lot worse. I…have three…STDs," she glanced at him, barreled on, "sexually transmitted diseases. Two aren't horrible, but they're not good, either. One…could be bad. Cold sores - Herpes Simplex II - is incurable, but not a huge deal. I'll just get a sore on my lip every so often, and it'll hurt, but it will go away with a topical ointment. I also have genital warts - which are gross, but not…too horrible, comparatively. And…and I have syphilis. As in, the go blind and crazy and get covered with oozing sores disease." She took a breath.

"Syphilis is incurable as well," Jareth said softly.

"But it can be…contained. Become asymptomatic. Almost disappear," she whispered, hope moving away as she spoke.

Jareth was quiet for a long moment.

"Sarah, I do not lightly allow people to cross from this realm to my own, or vice-versa, but I will send for a healer tomorrow." Sarah turned and stared at him. "While I cannot guarantee anything, it is possible that…the magic at my command could help you."

"But…I rejected your power over me," Sarah said, confused.

Jareth gave her a gentle smile and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

"And I work for you. Voluntarily. I went to you, not the other way around." Sarah looked at him for a long moment, then smiled. "So the magic does work on me now." She looked down and shook her head. "But only after I started working for you, right?"

Jareth smiled at her in return. "Exactly."

"I'm catching on, Boss," she said, voice losing tension, her smile becoming real again.

Jareth laughed softly and nodded. "That you are. Now, let's get dinner."

"And coffee," Sarah said, a little bit of the weight that had settled on her lifting now that she understood that hope did exist for her.

"Of course," Jareth said, insulted. "You would order something else?"

Sarah laughed.

TS=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+TS


	10. In a Dress She Hadn't Worn

THAT SUMMER

**inspired by the song "That Summer" by Garth Brooks**

**Ch. 10 In a Dress She Hadn't Worn in Quite a While**

**Disclaimer: **Neither the song "That Summer" nor the movie _Labyrinth_ are mine, and I make no money or other profit from my writing. Would I could and did, but I can't and I don't.

**Rating: M **for mature themes & sometimes explicit scenes including, but not limited to, death, drugs/alcohol, abuse, and sex. If you can't handle these things, leave now.

**A/N:** Still working on it…slowly but surely…

TS=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+TS

Sarah looked at herself in the mirror. The soft denim dress fell prettily down over her hips, flaring into a pretty skirt, the snaps down the front shining softly in the light. Her hat and boots were waiting in the corner.

Jareth was dragging her out to go fulfill her end of that damned karaoke clause in the Rules of Pie. She hadn't wanted to go out, but he'd done so much for her the last two days that she felt a little obligated.

He'd brought the healer from his kingdom two days ago, and she had finished the last vial of medicine just this morning.

Obligation didn't begin to cover what she felt for - owed - Jareth. She owed him everything. Including her health. But the last two days had been difficult because of what he'd done to return her to health, and they needed the company of others, if only for a little while, to put them back on an even keel.

If they continued as they were…

TS***TS

**Two days ago…**

"Sarah," Jareth said, motioning to the house, "when you've finished the barn, come inside. The rest of the chores will get done."

"All right," she replied, no little confused. It was less than an hour to finish the barn and make sure everything was squared away. She walked into the house, relaxed and only mildly curious as to why Jareth called her into the house. Whatever she had been expecting, it certainly wasn't what was waiting for her inside.

"This is Healer Tregaran," Jareth said, gesturing to a tall, handsome man with pointy ears and slightly green-tinted blonde hair. "He is my court healer, and the only healer that my brother and I allow to tend us."

Healer Tregaran looked at his king and added, dryly, "What His Majesty fails to mention is that I tended him and his twin from birth, tended his father and grandfather as well."

"Oh." Sarah frowned. "So you're used to working on males, not females?" she asked.

Healer Tregaran shook his head. She could see the flash of a silver-green at his temples. He was old, even if he still looked like a human movie star. With pointy ears and greenish hair, but who was counting?

"I tended the last six Queens during their pregnancies and in childbed." He tipped his head to the side and studied her carefully. "I assure you, I am quite well versed in the anatomy of a human female." At the mildly horrified expression on her face, Jareth clarified.

"He's also tended the whores that went to the satyrs, and their children. When dealing with certain human ailments, Tregaran is the best in the kingdoms." Jareth smirked. "Even if his phrasing leaves something to be desired."

"I said something inappropriate?" the older man asked, confused.

"You implied your knowledge of human anatomy came exclusively from sex," Jareth replied, the smile leaving his face. He couldn't remember if Tregaran had ever been Here Above.

"Ah. Then the language of the humans has changed greatly since the last lady I tended joined us." He shrugged. "I doubt anything else has greatly altered."

Sarah choked down a laugh and managed, "I would presume it hasn't." She looked at Jareth, trying to keep control of herself. "What exactly did you want, Jareth?"

The elf stared at her. She had addressed the king as an equal. It was one thing for an old retainer to lose some formality, but for a snip of a girl to do so was…was…he paused. Typically Jareth. For all that, though, there was something intriguing about her. A feel, almost magical, that radiated from her. But that was impossible. She was only human.

"Healer Tregaran is here to take care of your medical issues, even the ones Doc may have missed." He nodded to her and gave her a reassuring smile. "There's almost no limitation to his healing magic. In his field, he could be my equal in ability."

Sarah nodded slowly. "All right." She waited a moment. Jareth didn't move. "Jareth, could you, well, leave?"

"No," he said softly. "His limitations are few, and his technique is no less than miraculous, but the power required for any healing will have to be provided by a third party - me. As a child," he glanced over at the healer, "he had other methods and several assistants that he could use to practice his arts on my brother and myself, but that is certainly not the case any longer." Jareth hesitated a moment, adding, "And he is not a young elf any longer. I am afraid tending to me and Gareth has drained him more than we anticipated."

"Perhaps," the elf murmured, "but you have also provided innumerable situations that I would have otherwise never have encountered, Sire. The practice of the royal healer is now considered a separate and elite branch of medicine."

"You're joking - aren't you?" Jareth demanded.

"I am not," he replied seriously. "It isn't every healer that can deal with the most mundane of injuries, heal a complex poisoning, attend any number of visiting dignitaries of whatever race who were also poisoned, provide an antidote to a human with a severe affliction, and then attend to a royal childbirth and the resulting infants, frequently within the same seventy-hour period. The healers must be the best. My apprentice is almost ready to begin tending your nursery, Your Majesty."

"The same apprentice?" Jareth asked, thinking about the man in question. He ignored the dig about the royal duty to provide an heir and a spare.

"Yes."

"How long has he been your apprentice?"

"About six hundred years," the elf said.

"And he's only an apprentice?" Sarah asked, appalled.

"Oh, he's a full healer in several disciplines - but he is not yet a royal healer. He is very nearly prepared to replace me for everyday duties, though." The elf gave his king a significant look. "It is time for me to conserve my energies, Sire, and allow another to stand in my stead." His tone was almost apologetic. "And it is true, Sarah, that I will build the healing magics within you, but the power must come from His Majesty. Once, perhaps, I could have healed you, but those days are long since gone."

Sarah shook her head and started to back away. "I can't - not with you here, Jareth. It's just too much - "

"You misunderstand, my dear," Tregaran said, his voice taking on the same soothing quality that Doc's had. "The physical examination will be accomplished within moments, down to the cellular level, and the only thing we will need are these." He held up a wooden bowl with a silk pouch tucked into it. "Unlike human medicine, there is no need to compromise your modesty."

She looked at Jareth. "What did you tell him - " There was enough temper in her voice to make the elf interrupt.

"He didn't say anything, my dear. I am quite familiar with the hesitation that accompanies certain forms of maladies and histories. Your own actions and reactions have said more than he has on the subject."

"Oh."

"Please, come sit down," he gestured to the leather chair next to him.

Sarah did, waiting to see what came next. She had determined that the best way to deal with this situation was to treat Jareth's office as a part of the labyrinth, at least while Tregaran was present.

"Put your arms on the chair and hold out your hands," he instructed, emptying the contents of the pouch into the wooden bowl. He selected three things, and placed two in her hands - a green gemstone in her left hand, a gold one in her right. "Open," he said, indicating her mouth. She did. A blue stone was placed on her tongue. "Move your knees apart a bit." As soon as she had, a red stone was placed just below her zipper on her jeans, the healer's hands so quick and deft that she had no time or reason to object.

"Now, simply remain as you are, and let me know if anything I do causes you discomfort. This is the examination, not the healing. There should be no pain at any time."

Sarah nodded, waiting for something. Then she felt the lightest tingle in her hands. The stones were starting to glow. Her eyes went wide and the powder struck her fully. She could feel the forest around her, the air heavy with the smells of loam and leaf, the laughter of a brook nearby, the slow heartbeat of the earth and trees, the bright, quick flickers of motion. The sun itself slid into her veins and she heard herself gasp at the wonder of it all. Her eyes slipped closed as tears trickled from eyes, the beauty of the magic so pure it hurt.

"Are you in pain?" a voice whispered in the treetops. She shook her head. The sun filled her, then slowly receded, leaving her entire body energized and peaceful. The healer gently removed the stones from her hands and between her legs. She opened her mouth for him to take the final stone from her tongue. As he did, she noticed the stones had changed color. The blue stone from her mouth had a grey cast to it. The green and gold were a muddy brown, and the red stone was almost black. The peaceful feeling abated somewhat at the sight, and she managed a question.

"It's worse than Doc said, isn't it?" she asked them, not addressing either one directly.

"Yes," replied the healer quietly. "Your immune system is severely compromised, my dear, and there is something, a virus, affecting you at the cellular level in your blood. I can neutralize the threat, but a true healing - "

"I am here to assist," Jareth reminded him.

The healer shook his head. "It is more complex than simply magic will allow. Neutralizing the illness will be the beginning. There will be a medicine, as well. I will need to return later to ensure that all traces of the illness are completely removed and flushed from the body. It will not be an easy process, and it will tax you physically, even as it taxes my king magically."

"You have not experienced the depths of my power in a very long time," Jareth reminded the healer. "I was born with great power, but I have had many decades in which to practice the use of that power, and to grow stronger." From someone else, the arrogance of the statement would have disgusted Sarah. From Jareth, it was no more than a statement of fact. He was incredibly powerful, quite possibly the most powerful of the Fae alive, and with his brother, definitely the most powerful pair.

"And Sarah is not Fae, nor elven, nor magical at all. She is not even gifted in the way of the ancient humans. She is human, and the healing will require the skill of a surgeon and the power of a tornado. She will drain both of us, Sire, and there is nothing I can do to change that fact." The magical residue he'd noticed earlier, that hint of power that clung to her, was Jareth's signature, his magic. That tantalizing breath of the Underground was, alas, simply contagion.

"I have learned not to underestimate this particular human," Jareth replied, giving Sarah a small smile as he spoke. "She is surprisingly resilient." He looked at the elf with a much harder expression. "We will heal her. Now."

"As you will, my liege," Tregaran sighed. He turned back to Sarah.

"Don't I get a say in this?" she asked, looking back and forth between them. "I am the one who needs healing, after all."

Jareth started to reply, then closed his mouth and gave her a curt nod.

"What will this entail?" she asked, then added quickly, "I'm not concerned about pain or disgusting potions or whatever, but Jareth needs to be able to use his magic and get around physically - this isn't a palace, for all that it is a huge homestead."

"I will be quite well, Sarah," Jareth said quietly. "Of that, I can be more than certain."

"There is a lengthy cleansing, first. The less serious ailments will be cured and removed from you at that time. You will have the opportunity to rest and refresh yourself, and then the serious work begins." He saw the look of disbelief on her face and continued. "Not that the ailments should be dismissed, but the last will require a complex series of spells, healing, and, to an extent, regeneration of damaged cellular structures and organs. There is a great deal to do and then there will be the potions, as you called them, to mix and prepare for you to take. The trauma to your body will be great, even if there is no overt sign of what I am doing. In fact, the only thing you will have is perhaps a small bruise where I must hold the healing stones against the skin of your wrists." He paused. "I hope that no deeper magics will be needed, but it is entirely possible that we must… Well."

Sarah was quiet for a long moment. "Will it be painful?"

"No," he replied slowly, considering her question. "I do not believe so. It is possible that you may swoon from the intensity of the power flowing through you, and that you may feel as though your body has been…scrubbed, very hard, inside and out, but actual pain?" He shook his head. "No. If the healing must progress to the deep magics, then there could be discomfort from the transmission gems, but not actual pain from the healing."

"Then there's no reason to keep talking about it. Let's just do this."

"So simple, is it, Sarah?" Jareth asked, his voice soft, that delicate thread of inquiry the same one that asked her the questions she still wrestled with in the moments she had to think about them.

"Yes," she replied, eyes focused on him. "It is."

He nodded in reply, seemingly pleased with her acceptance of his offer of healing and of the healer.

Tregaran nodded and removed two emeralds from the wooden bowl. "Please extend your wrists, Sarah."

She held out her wrists and strong hands wrapped around them, pressing the emeralds against the pulse points. Jareth leaned over and placed his gloved hands over the healer's, then nodded. The forest slid into her again, this time delicately, the threat of a storm off in the distance. The storm rolled closer, boiling across the horizon and slashing through the peaceful forest. As the storm lashed at her, filling her, she closed her eyes. She felt her spine lose its stiffness and her head fall back against the leather chair. How had she forgotten this? It had only one source - Jareth's magic. The wild power slid into her veins and sapped at her will, taunting her with visions of dancing and crystal stairs, of improbable clocks and even more fantastic creatures, whirling and dipping and swaying to the haunting tune sung by a king.

She felt the pressure increase on her wrists, heard the healer hiss a warning to Jareth, but she was lost to them, drunk on the magic she'd only tasted in a sweet peach and sweeter dream, long ago in the labyrinth.

This time, she knew so much more of the dance between woman and man. She understood the laughter, the very real seduction that was being played out in front of her - the seduction of the senses in the hedonistic crowds and her own.

The understanding hit her like lightning. She had followed a dream that would fail because she couldn't have what she had denied. But now - here - there was a chance…wasn't there?

But she didn't want this. She didn't want to be the mistress, the lover, the queen. She wanted…she didn't know what she wanted, only that she hadn't realized how empty she was without the feel of Jareth's magic filling her senses and spinning her head and tasting so very sweet - sweet as a peach on her tongue.

Slowly, the feeling faded and the crystal dream fell away into a sparkling shower of dust.

Soft eyes found the blue-cinnamon of Jareth's and he saw in that instant what she had remembered, remembered and expanded. It was there in the slow blink, the gently parted lips, the dreamy eyes.

Tregaran frowned. "She should be exhausted," he murmured to Jareth in the language of the Underground.

"This isn't the first time she has tasted or tested my magic," Jareth replied.

"Surely you haven't bedded her." The healer didn't get that sense from her, or the notion that she had been old enough for bedding the last time she had met Jareth.

"No. She ran the labyrinth when she was barely old enough to understand there were certain dreams a girl could not handle. She is now," he murmured, almost to himself.

"How did she test you?" asked the healer.

"A bespelled peach and a crystal dream," the king smiled fondly as he remembered. "She was so very earnest, even then."

Tregaran shook his head and indicated Sarah. "Let her go upstairs, shower, and eat. Even though the magic came from us, her body has been fighting at our instructions. She needs a break before we begin to work on the debilitating illness." Jareth nodded in reply.

"Sarah, can you hear me?" Jareth asked. Sarah's eyes returned to his face, and she nodded slowly. "Go upstairs and take a bath. Dinner will be ready when you come back down."

Still slightly dazed, Sarah drifted up the stairs and into her room. She managed to pick up her robe and move to the bathroom without much thought. Her bath was a vague haze of silky water and soap over sleepy skin. It wasn't until she had towelled off and dried her hair that her wits started to return, albeit slowly.

"And this was the simple healing," she murmured, closing her eyes as she realized that she was in deep, deep trouble. She had wanted Jareth for years, but she hadn't understood what it was she had felt. So many things had been tangled together when she had experienced the labyrinth and Jareth's confusing presence - and now those were only memories, and hindsight is considered the only perfect vision.

She wanted Jareth, even with what she'd done and been, she wanted him. She understood what, as a child, had not been there and what, as a child, she had been unaware of in herself. From the feel of his magic and the time together at the ranch, that storm she had felt was more than his power: it was his desire for her.

He hadn't lied. Not that he would. He would consider her favours as a beautiful gift. And he would break her heart. Or would she break his? Or would they walk away whole and healed from the encounter?

There were too many questions and not enough answers. Her stomach growled, a rude reminder that, no matter the mental and emotional angst, the body required a regular refueling, however mundane it may be compared to the current mental anguish and emotional turmoil. With a shake of her head, Sarah walked downstairs in her robe and socks, hair clipped neatly back at the base of her neck. The peach silk was well-lined and heavy enough to ward off the chill; the hem brushed the tops of her feet; and the overlap was enough that the neckline didn't plunge or gap. With the way she had reacted to Jareth's magic, the message could be misinterpreted, but Jareth would understand: the robe wasn't an invitation, but an acceptance of reality. If the 'shallow' magics had left her dazed and confused, the 'deep' magics would probably sweep her from consciousness altogether.

Even if Tregaran didn't' understand, she was positive Jareth would.

Downstairs, dinner, also procured from the palace when Jareth had gone for the healer, waited in perfect preservation on the dinner table. The sight of the delicate porcelain and silver on the practical kitchen table made Sarah blink.

"I took the liberty of ordering dinner," Jareth said, seeing and ignoring the robe. "I hope you don't mind dining on the fruits of my kitchen staff's labour?"

"Dinner fit for a king? How could I object." She gave him a quick grin. "Is it mutton?"

"Bite your tongue, you ungrateful wench," Jareth said, sniffing in reproof.

Sarah giggled and walked to her customary place. Tregaran joined them at the table and watched as Sarah and Jareth teased one another gently throughout the meal. It was more affection than the old elf had seen from Jareth for anyone but his twin in more years than he cared to remember. The Goblin Kings were not known for their kindness or forbearance of women. They were known for womanizing, wicked rumors that Tregaran had never, ever been able to find confirmation about, and being amazingly good rulers, given they were Fae and in control of the goblin kingdom. An elf could appreciate good stewardship, no matter the steward. Whatever their faults, Jareth and Gareth truly worked to ensure the well-being of their kingdom.

After dinner, Sarah started for the living room again.

"No," Tregaran stopped her. "You will need a place where you can lie down for this - somewhere that is big enough for Jareth to lie down as well. This will be much more intense than the first healing."

Sarah looked at Jareth. Jareth looked at Sarah. Slowly, they turned and went upstairs. Jareth looked at her, and walked past her room to the one on the other side of the bathroom. The walls were a deep, pleasant green. The wood glowed like warm honey, and the fine layer of dust said that this room had not been opened in quite some time.

"This will serve," Tregaran pronounced his judgement on the space. "Please, Sarah, sit on the bed and try to relax. I will use the healing stones again, but this time I will be building the instructions and pathways that Jareth's power will travel in order to complete the healing. I warn you, this could take hours to complete, and you will be very, very tired afterward."

"You said I would be tired earlier. I was just…flaked out," Sarah objected.

The healer shook his head, declining to answer. "The reasons for that are myriad and unexpected. This, my dear, will tax even my king."

Without another word, Sarah settled into a comfortable spot on the bed, legs crossed, spine straight but relaxed.

Sarah felt the healer's hands on her wrists, emeralds pressed against her pulse points, and this time, the forest-filled magic didn't consume her senses. She relaxed as the magic eased through her, covering and webbing through her entire body. She could feel the places where the magic pooled, others where thin streamers branched out and led to other pools. All the while, the healer was chanting softly, the sound like the wind in the leaves, soft shushes and sighing sibilants.

Sarah let the magic in, accepted it, and began to wonder what it was waiting for. The magic was simply sitting in her, doing nothing. After a long while, the healer stopped. Every part of her was filled with magic, filled to bursting with the forest green of the healer's magic. She tried not to long for the storm.

The healer's hands left her wrists, and she could feel his hands still on her wrists, the pressur of the emeralds against her skin, even though she could see he was across the room. It was a kind of echo, left behind as the place where the magic had entered her. She saw Tregaran nod to Jareth, hand him a stone the size of her palm.

"I need to move behind you, Sarah," Jareth said, his voice soft, that same lulling tone he used with Warlock. Sarah nodded her understanding and felt the bed dip behind her. She could feel him behind her, the wild power he contained reaching for her. It was an effort not to lean back into him.

She didn't need to. Jareth's arms wrapped around her, the stone pressing against her heart. As his magic began to read the webs and pools the healer had left in her, he began to pour power into the stone. It was filling the stone, light beginnng to shine as the magic pushed deeper and deeper into the crystalline matrix, when the stone shattered under his palm.

Jareth cursed, quickly pulling the pieces away from Sarah's skin and to his hand. Even so, he could not prevent a small burn from a chip of the stone, a tiny mark high on her left cheek, near the eye. The magical burn would heal when Jareth's power met the healer's magical instructions, but it would not fade like an ordinary burn. Magical wounds never healed quite the same as a physical wound.

"There is only one other stone that I have, Sire, that could handle the amount of magic you will need to employ," Tregaran said softly.

"Get it," Jareth replied curtly, tossing the remnants of the shattered transmission stone into the garbage. Tregaran hesitated.

"Sire, it is not a single stone. It is a web of stones and electrum - "

"Get. It." Jareth said, voice impatient and exaggeratedly slow.

"Sire - "

"Tregaran!" Jareth snapped.

The healer bowed his head and walked to the bowl where the silken pouch lay. From it he withdrew a stone the size of Jareth's fist, webbed to a series of stones that grew smaller and smaller as they reached the end of the delicate electrum net.

"Lie down, Sarah," Tregaran said softly, sorrow in his dark hazel eyes. "The large stone must be over your heart." He hesitated. "There can be no barriers between your skin and the stones," he added, "for either of you."

Jareth glared at the healer, but nodded curtly.

"Leave us," he ordered.

"I should monitor…" Tregaran's protest faded as he saw the look on Jareth's face, on Sarah's. "If there is difficulty, call me," he said, bowing low to his king. The healer lifted his bowl and faded from view, returning, Sarah supposed, to the Underground.

Sarah looked over her shoulder at Jareth. She couldn't think of what to say, only wondering if the healing was truly worth such revelations.

"I will turn off the lights, Sarah," he told her, not looking directly at her. "Place the web with the largest stone over your heart. Make sure that all of the other stones and the entire web touches your skin. I will not look, except to ensure the web is in place." He looked at her then. "There is no joy in such revelations, Sarah, and I do not expect you to take any." He did not like the conversation, and it showed in his voice. "I would not take any liberties with you, Sarah, as I - "

"It's okay, Jareth." She snorted. "It's a lot better than any exam I've had, and, I can do this." She paused. How do you thank someone for not doing something when they already said they wouldn't - twice?

Jareth turned off the lights and waited for a long moment before turning around to walk back to the bed. Sarah had pulled the net over her, carefully positioning the large stone over her heart, and making sure she could feel every inch of the healing web. Once it was draped over her skin, she realized that the web was larger than it had looked in the healer's hands. The smallest stones fell down on her sides, at her collarbone, and across her hips. She pulled the peach silk over her again, just because.

Seeing the silk, Jareth gave her a small smile, then realized it was dark enough in the room that she couldn't see at all. Perhaps that would make this easier for them. He could see, shadows against lighter shadows, but he was using a small tendril of magic to help him. He walked over to the bed and closed his eyes.

Sarah waited, eyes closed, wondering if this was a good idea, knowing it was too late to stop. Every time she thought she had a clear direction and knew what she was doing she ended up like this: in situations she didn't want, doing something she hadn't expected with someone who, maybe later on, she would want to do something else with. She wanted to cry from the irony of waiting for Jareth in a bed, but no tears would come. The soft pops of Jareth's snap-front shirt opening made her remember what Tregaran had said before he left. No barriers.

The bed dipped and she felt as much as heard Jareth stretch out beside her, carefully not touching her. Several moments passed before he said, voice soft, "We can't wait much longer, Sarah."

"I know," she replied.

"Are you ready?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes." The bed jiggled as he turned on his side, facing her. The lack of light was good and bad. She wasn't sure she could handle seeing Jareth as he checked the web, but at the same time she had become a bit of a control freak over the past several years, at least concerning her body and what she allowed to happen. Before she could delve too deeply into the question of which was better, the darkness or the light, the silk was pulled aside and Sarah was bare past her hips to Jareth's gaze. She guessed he could see quite well in the light.

Jareth located the center stone and frowned. "This isn't correctly placed," he murmured.

"The heart is on the left," Sarah said, trying not to blush, knowing full well how high the center stone rode on her breast.

"Actually," Jareth said, lifting the stone and moving it more to the centerline of her body, off and just below her breast, "it's more here. The myth that the heart is on the left is inaccurate. The heart is mostly hidden behind the sternum - the breastbone - and barely peeks out to the left side." He tugged the corners of the web into place. "There."

Sarah licked her lips and gave a humourless laugh. "Of course," she muttered.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, checking over the web with a tendril of magic, one light enough that she didn't feel it.

"The stones are falling in…interesting places now, Jareth. I'm not sure I like that." She snorted. "Not that that particularly matters, but it is uncomfortable, in the emotional sense, not the physical."

"Of course." He paused. "This is not…what I would prefer, Sarah."

"I know," she whispered. After a small silence, "I'm as ready as I'll ever be, Jareth."

Jareth said nothing, but placed his hand over the center transmission stone. He began poring power into the stone, and Sarah could see it begin to glow in the darkness. The light was worse, she decided, and Jareth must have seen the expression on her face, for he spoke then.

"I have to charge the stones first, Jareth said. "Once they are all fully charged, I'll have to release the magic, and to do that in a controlled manner, I must touch all of the stones." He paused. "I regret to say my hands are not so large, nor am I able to be in several places at one time."

"It's okay," Sarah said, able to see him in the glow of the stones now. His gaze was trained on her face, watching for her reaction to him. "I'm not… Do you think it will hurt?"

"A bit at first, perhaps, but not real pain. More of an overwhelming sensation." He thought for a moment. "I remember a few major healings from my youth. They are disconcerting enough for Fae - and elves are by far the best healers among the races. I am not certain how difficult it will be for you. You accepted the power of both Tregaran and myself quite well earlier."

"Do you think it was because of the peach?" she asked, knowing he would understand.

"It is possible. Or it is the residue from your visit to the Underground. Magic can be a form of contagion, you know, much like pollens or spores. If you had any long-buried genetic tendency toward human gifts, then you would have an easier time with the magics."

"Do you think that's the case? Are there any, well, symptoms or signs of the old gifts?"

He thought for a moment, the stones glowing brighter from the center of the web out, but the smallest stones still uncharged. He saw what she meant by the stones being in inconvenient places. He had hoped that removing his shirt would be sufficient. He saw now that it would not. He refrained from cursing the healer, even in his mind, and concentrated on what he knew of the human gifts.

"No. It's been so long since any human has legitimately been gifted that the signs are little more than myths among the oldest elves." He paused. "I do not believe that you are so gifted, Sarah, though it is possible that someone far back in your line was. Magic is not comfortable or easy for most humans to be around. They frequently liken it to the feeling of an electrical charge in the air, like the feeling lightning will strike. I cannot really relate to that description, because magic is another sense to me. It is simply something that is and that is a part of me. It's like asking a cat what it's like to have whiskers and a tail - what possible answer could they give?"

Sarah grinned. "You do realize I'm now picturing you with cat's whiskers and a long furry tail, right?"

"You would," Jareth sighed, smiling back at her a bit. The row just from the edge of the web began to glow softly. The smile faded from his face as he glanced down to check the stones against her skin. He closed his eyes. Looked at her face. "Sarah, I had hoped that simply removing my shirt would be enough." He didn't say the rest.

Sarah closed her eyes and sighed softly. "I should have known it couldn't be that easy." She opened her eyes and looked at him, a soul-deep sorrow in her grey eyes. "Will…will we have to…" she couldn't finish the question.

Jareth hesitated. "I want to tell you no, Sarah, but deep magics are difficult to control. If I could stay like this," he motioned to his jeans and socks, "I would say absolutely not, even with the deep magics, but…I must be honest, Sarah, even when it pains me to speak truth. It may be that we cannot control our response to the magic - and it will be your reactions as well as mine which dictate the outcome.

"The question is," he continued, "do you want to remember?"

"You can do that?" she asked, staring at him. "You can take the memory?"

"Yes." He said no more as the last row of stones began to glow softly.

Sarah swallowed hard. "Please, don't take this the wrong way, but no, I don't. I don't want to remember, not when it's a reaction to something and not my active choice. I want… If we ever do, after tonight, I want to remember that as the first time you touch me." She hesitated. "Can you forget? Magically, I mean?"

He looked at her, the same sorrow in his eyes. "Yes." He did not mention the difficulties of locking down a memory so deeply buried in magic, but that was his burden to bear, not hers. "I will try not to make it necessary." It was as close to a promise as he dared make.

With that, he shifted over her, and Sarah felt the rough denim brush against her legs briefly before his arms slid between the silk and her back and the denim disappeared. She moved her legs instinctively, letting him press against her, the inconvenient stone placed in such a manner that any pressure was uncomfortable. When Jareth pressed his chest to hers, she hissed at the feel of the transmission stones biting into her skin.

She looked up into Jareth's face in the nearly smothered light. His eyes were closed and she saw him take a deep breath. The magic hit her the next instant with the force of a tidal wave. Sarah gasped and her spine bowed as the magic ripped through her, the sheer power of Jareth's magic tearing the ability to think from her and leaving her at the mercy of her instincts.

Jareth panted softly as he poured power though the stones into her, dozens of lances of magical power finding the healer's web and flowing down the lines to remove the illness and repair any damage to her body. He dropped his head to the curve of her neck.

Sarah's hands slid up Jareth's arms and over his shoulders as his head found the hollow of her neck. Her hands slid into his hair, pulling the tie out of his hair and sending the silky locks free over his neck and shoulders.

He wanted to beg her for mercy. Anything but a lover's touch - he could withstand anything but that.

She had no idea what she was doing.

He did.

When her hand curved around the back of his neck, he was lost. He lifted his head and looked down at her for one instant, seeing the wild magic riding her, stealing her breath from her lungs and clouding her beautiful grey eyes.

Sarah stared up at Jareth through a haze of crystal. She could see him, feel him, but she couldn't speak. Her breath was gone - until he sealed his lips to hers. When he gave her breath back, she moaned in gratitude.

The power surged deeper within her, and she knew nothing more.

She woke the next morning wrapped in Jareth's arms, his weight on her a kind of comforting blanket, despite the lack of cloth separating them.

"Jareth?" she whispered, blushing at the feel of him pressed against her.

Jareth mumbled something unintelligible and moved closer to her, denying the morning.

"Jareth, it's time to get up," she said a little louder, cheeks flaming from the situation. He didn't respond, except to press a kiss to her shoulder. "Jareth, I _need_ to get up!" she said, more urgently.

With that final plea, Jareth finally picked up his head and blinked several times. "Sarah?" he asked, voice rough with morning. "What on earth - the healing." He rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. "Bloody hell. You gave me a hangover." He moved his arm and stared at her as she sat up, then stood. "You bloody well gave me a hangover! You! A human!"

"Hangovers are usually the responsibility of the one suffering," Sarah shot back. "If you have a hangover, it's your own fault. _You_ were the one who got drunk on the magic."

"Doesn't work that way, love," he replied, snorting. "Magical hangovers come from expenditure, not like alcoholic hangovers, which come from excessive intake." His eyes narrowed as she moved easily to the door. "And you should also be hungover from the excessive intake of magic."

"How could I possibly be hungover from your magic, Jareth?" she asked softly, looking at him. She saw him blink as he registered what she had said. Quickly, she slipped out of the green room and to the bathroom down the hall. By the sink, she found a series of small vials and instructions to take one every six hours after waking until they were gone.

She lifted the first vial to her lips and drank swiftly. It was horrid, but it was better than living with STDs, with one in the "go blind and crazy" category.

It was a thousand times better than telling Jareth his magic couldn't make her drunk because it felt like coming home.

TS***TS

…she was going to end up in his bed, if she wore this. She probably would anyway, but she wanted more than the need borne of the seduction of his magic, his scent, _him_.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. The dress hugged her figure, skimming over her breasts and hips in a smooth curve of soft denim. The pale blue made her eyes stand out that much more.

She was pretty. She shook her head and quickly pulled open the snaps, determined to wear jeans and a regular shirt, but the nicer boots and her good hat. It would be enough. More than enough.

She was still too wounded to wear anything else.


	11. There Was a Difference in Their Laughter

THAT SUMMER

**inspired by the song "That Summer" by Garth Brooks**

**Ch. 11 There Was a Difference in Their Laughter**

**Disclaimer: **Neither the song "That Summer" nor the movie _Labyrinth_ are mine, and I make no money or other profit from my writing. Would I could and did, but I can't and I don't.

**Rating: M **for mature themes & sometimes explicit scenes including, but not limited to, death, drugs/alcohol, abuse, and sex. If you can't handle these things, leave now.

**A/N:** Still working on it…slowly but surely…

TS=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+TS

Jareth waited ungraciously downstairs, arms crossed, face set, all but tapping an impatient toe. When Sarah finally walked down the stairs, he straightened and motioned to the door.

"It's cold outside, isn't it?" she asked, looking at her jacket.

"For you, yes. For me, no." He gave her a small grin. "The truck has a heater and the bar is not without heat."

"And I still don't want to freeze between the door and the truck," she said, wrinkling her nose. It wasn't a problem to take a jacket everywhere, even in summer, but it was getting a little old. Then again, she'd been through late winter without any coat or jacket, and having a jacket was considerably better than doing without.

Jareth just shook his head and let her exit first, watching appreciatively as her jeans swayed in the porch light. Ruthlessly shoving the thought aside, he closed the door and followed her to the truck.

TS***TS

The Double Cedar was everything and nothing like Sarah had expected. The building was rough-hewn wood and peanut-shells on the floors and a big dance floor filled with people. The bar was a work of art, with hand-carved wood and marble panels showing scenes from the Old West, a heavy brass bar around the base to use as a prop, a soft pad of old, old leather still plush enough to keep tired arms and elbows from the hard surface of the bar. Chandeliers swung from the ceiling, and the stage was screened in. From the look of the band, Sarah wasn't sure if that was for the band's safety, or the patrons'.

A minute after they walked in, greetings were called to Jareth from near and far, no few stopping Sarah and Jareth's progress to the bar in order to speak with him for a moment and greet her. Curiosity was rampant, and Sarah received no few nasty looks from some very pretty, and apparently eligible, ladies. Jareth greeted everyone quietly, calmly, raising a hand to acknowledge the shouted greetings, shaking the hands of those nearby.

Sarah noticed how easily he remembered the people and their circumstances, even their relationships with others in the club. He caught her incomprehension after the seventh short conversation and guided her over to the booth he favoured, subtly letting the others know that he would be happy to talk to them in a few minutes.

"How do you remember all of that?" she asked him, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the music.

He gave her a look. Sighed. "I have a carefully trained memory, Sarah. It is filled with history, politics, alliances, family histories for every noble line and every important commoner's lines - there is no comparison to these small groups and webs of relationship." She nodded thoughtfully as he motioned for one of the waitresses to come over. "Shall I order?"

"Sure. I don't really drink, though."

"Mm. Something simple to begin, then. Ah, Raphaela, so lovely to see you my dear. Two beers, draft, if you would be so kind. My usual and a Heineken for my guest." He nodded to Sarah. "This is Sarah. Sarah, Raphaela. She is the owner's daughter, and has him terrified that she will marry a rodeo cowboy and leave the Double Cedar - and the Saturday night rush - forever."

Raphaela, a sweet-faced girl who was still obviously a bit young to work in a bar, giggled. "You are terrible, Mr. King!" she said in her softly accented English. She explained for Sarah. "My sisters did just that. Papa has become much the bear about me, but I like the bar. My sisters…not so much."

"I suppose he has reason to worry," Sarah replied, "but more about you taking over than running away!"

"Si," Raphaela giggled. "I will be right back with your orders."

"Um, you know I'm not legal, right?" Sarah asked, giving Jareth a look.

"Check your pocket," he replied. She did and found a Montana driver's license, complete with date of birth that seemed a bit hazy, like she didn't want to look at it. "The date will show you as 21 when you wish, and your true age when you wish."

"You always were pretty sharp on the wishes," she replied dryly. He raised an eyebrow, "Even if I _did_ ask for it."

"Mm. That's a myth, you know. That I can grant wishes. I can only grant the Goblin Wish. The rest are up to you to procure."

Sarah needed to change the subject, so she asked, "How old is Raphaela? She doesn't look old enough to work here."

"Ordinarily, she wouldn't be, but family establishments that are run by family have a bit more leeway. Notice that she's not the one bringing us the drinks." Sarah looked over and saw a young man walking over with a pair of brimming mugs, no tray. "It's Heath. He's a cowboy, but was torn up pretty badly a few months ago practicing for rodeo He needed a job that would let him heal, and about that time one of Raphaela's sisters ran off with another rodeo cowboy. For him to work here only made sense, especially given that he only delivers alcohol to patrons." The mugs slid into place on the table.

Heath grinned at Sarah, a charming little grin. "Mr. King, you know I'd never doubt your word, but this lovely lady doesn't seem old enough to drive, much less drink." He spoke to Sarah then, "Do you mind if I see your ID? I hate to ask, but the boss has gotten unreasonable lately."

Sarah smiled back and handed him her license, newly forged by Jareth's magic. "Be careful. The ink's still wet."

As he checked the photo background and the date, Heath laughed. "I won't tell the sheriff," he whispered back. Sarah laughed softly, as expected, and was rewarded with a wink. After a reminder that they wouldn't need to wait long for refills, Heath wandered back to the bar, grabbing a few empties on the way.

"Nice guy," Sarah said, turning back to Jareth. "Not what I expected."

"What did you expect?" Jareth asked.

"Good question." Sarah thought for a moment. "I don't know." She took a sip of her beer, looked down at the golden liquid in the frosted mug, and pursed her lips. The beer wasn't what she expected either. It wasn't sweet like a soda, or tart like a fruit drink, or overpowering like whiskey she'd snuck from her father's liquor cabinet. It was light on the tongue and fizzy and had a light, earthy taste that made her think of the ranch. Of hay-smells and hot summer days in a field of new-cut grass. "Hardly anything is what I expected. Sometimes I wonder if I should just stop expecting anything, especially when I'm going to be constantly surprised."

"A life without expectations is as empty as a life filled with nothing but - or broken dreams." Jareth's voice was sad somehow, making Sarah study him closely.

"Is it so bad?" she asked, then noticed Raphaela walking up for their dinner order.

Jareth started to reply, stopped, and smiled politely to Raphaela.

"Are you ready to order?" she asked, smile wide and happy-to-be-there. Whatever else, it seemed Raphaela was thrilled to work in the bar, even if she was…what? Fifteen? Sixteen?

Jareth ordered for both of them, not that Sarah minded. He knew she wasn't picky, and she knew he had, if not a finicky palate, a good sense of what she would like. Besides, it gave her time to consider what kind of life Jareth led Underground.

"You'd hate having to be a cowboy or anything else," Sarah said as soon as the girl was far enough away. "Admit it. For all the hassles and heartaches, you like to be king."

Jareth grinned at her, tipping his head to the side. "True. Vacations are nice, though."

Sarah shook her head and rolled her eyes, in that moment every inch the spoiled teen from years ago. "Only you would consider a working ranch and all the attendant headaches a vacation."

Jareth laughed heartily, surprising no few of the patrons who'd been readying themselves to go visit the quiet, reserved rancher. Eyes settled on Jareth's companion. No one wanted to interrupt whatever was between Jareth and the dark haired girl across from him.

They enjoyed a quiet dinner together, comfortable in a crowded bar in ways that they hadn't been since Sarah's healing. The awkwardness seemed to dissipate without the heaviness of privacy. They spoke as they would have at the ranch, but the weight of the words was lessened here, the subtext drowned in the noise of the band.

Jareth pulled her out of the booth and onto the dance floor, teaching her a few of the line-dances and couples-dances that were popular. Everyone noticed the easiness between them, the effortless laughter, the smiles that carried private conversations. It was a comfortable, wonderful evening. Until Sarah needed a few moments in the cowgirl's room to refresh herself.

"Who the hell are you goin' after my man?" demanded a hard voice as Sarah stepped out from the stall.

"Who?" Sarah asked, confused. "King?" She stopped before she could say Jareth's name. "The boss? I work for him."

"I'm sure you do - and he rides well. Not after tonight. You get your skinny ass out of Memphis or I'll make sure - "

"Pam, shut your mouth and get back out there to your friends. You don't want King to hear you talkin' like that about one of his hands." Gracie was there, fixing at her make-up and watching in the mirror. "Remember Lillian?"

The woman paled a bit and left, saying nothing else to Sarah.

"That girl can't take a hint," Gracie said, shaking her head. "Been after Jay for years - even when he was a handsome young man in school - and he hasn't given her the time of day. He likes you, thought."

"And I really need to speak with you and Jane," Sarah said, eyes flashing now with remembered anger. "Not that I don't appreciate what you did just now, but what in _hell_ were you thinking, sending all those frilly things after I _specifically told you I didn't want them?_"

Gracie sighed and turned around, leaning against the counter. "I was thinking maybe you'd make him laugh, smile, come out and do more than hold court in his booth. He spends a few evenings here a month, but he never really enjoys it. He doesn't dance, except at the big county fair opening-night dance - but then every rancher does, at least one dance. He doesn't do a lot of the things he's done tonight." Gracie gave her the look of a woman who had seen too much heartache and too few solutions. "I was thinking you could make each other happy, at least for a little while." She gave a wistful smile. "I haven't heard him laugh like that since he was a little boy, and I didn't know you could laugh anymore." Her eyes sharpened and she straightened up. "So you can be upset and you can dog cuss me until the end of the world, but damned if I'll apologize or take one scrap of it back, not when you're laughing like that and having such a good time."

With that, Gracie strode out of the room, leaving Sarah to stand there, staring stupidly at her reflection and wondering how she lost a debate when her arguments were based on clear-cut lines of _will_ and _won't._

Bemused at the turn of events, Sarah walked out to join Jareth again, to find him sitting at the booth and talking to one of the other men. When the man saw Sarah approaching, he quickly ended the conversation and walked back to his place at the bar.

"I saw Gracie," Sarah said, without waiting for Jareth to speak.

"I missed it?" he asked, eyes bright with laughter.

Sarah shook her head, looking up at him with an expression he couldn't read and a feeling she couldn't name. "I lost," was all she said, but there was something about her that made Jareth pause. He watched her carefully, saw that she wasn't truly upset, and let it go. Whatever it was, she would tell him later. Or not.

Raphaela appeared a moment later, beaming at them both. "Everything's ready, Mr. King," she said, "whenever you are!" She didn't stay or explain, leaving Sarah to wait for the mystery to be resolved.

"I believe," Jareth said, studying his nails, "that you owe me a few songs."

Sarah's eyes went wide as she laughed. "Ohhh, no. You owe _me_ songs, buster. At least three. It's in the Rules of Pie."

"Which I changed without notifying you. Royal prerogative." He stood, took her hand, and pulled her up. "Come, come. We haven't got all day."

"You don't even know if I can sing, Jareth!" she protested as he took her over to the stage. "And -"

"For every song you sing tonight, I'll sing two," he said quietly, breaking off her protests before she got started good.

"All right," Sarah said, suddenly agreeable. "Can I see the selections?"

Jareth laughed, shaking his head and determining that trying to predict Sarah now was as dangerous as Doc's temper.

Only a few minutes later, Sarah had made her first selection of the night. Almost everyone in the bar recognized the first few notes of the song, appreciative applause for the choice, lukewarm because of the unknown singer.

"You know a dream is like a river,  
Ever changing as it flows…"

The warm, slightly husky voice surprised most of the audience, but she did justice to the song, no matter that it wasn't the clear voice of Garth Brooks singing it.

"…Choose to chance the rapids  
and dare to dance that tide.

Oh I will sail my vessel  
'Til the river runs dry  
Like a bird upon the wind  
These waters are my sky  
I'll never reach my destination  
If I never try  
So I will sail my vessel  
'Til the river runs dry..."

When Sarah finished, she was surprised to receive a rousing round of applause. She ducked her head a little and got offstage quickly. A single look over at Jareth, and a wicked gleam sparked in her eyes.

From half a room away, Jareth saw that look and wondered exactly what she was up to. He found out moments later when she hustled over to him and informed him he was to sing "Rebel, Rebel" - right now.

The duel went on between them for well over an hour, entertaining the crowd and causing speculation to crop up everywhere. The calls from the bar only made the crowd grow as friends called friends and told them that King and some slip of a girl were singing at the Double Cedar.

One old pair of dark eyes watched with a mix of anger and sorrow as the obvious affection between ranch owner and ranch hand coloured their laughter and the looks they exchanged.

TS=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+TS


	12. There Was a Softness in His Eyes

THAT SUMMER

**inspired by the song "That Summer" by Garth Brooks**

**Ch. 12 There Was a Softness in His Eyes**

**Disclaimer: **Neither the song "That Summer" nor the movie _Labyrinth_ are mine, and I make no money or other profit from my writing. Would I could and did, but I can't and I don't.

**Rating: M **for mature themes & sometimes explicit scenes including, but not limited to, death, drugs/alcohol, abuse, and sex. If you can't handle these things, leave now.

**A/N:** Still working on it…slowly but surely…

TS=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+TS

Sarah and Jareth walked back out to the truck, shoulders bumping and laughing softly at the reception they had gotten for their singing. A few moments and they were in the car, Sarah shivering a bit in the cool night air.

"It's been a good nght," Sarah said softly. "Thanks, Jareth."

He looked down at his hands on the steering wheel and nodded once. "It has. And you're welcome."

Sarah couldn't think of anything else to say, so she let silence fill the cab as Jareth drove back to the ranch. Even though they weren't speaking, even though the trip was long enough for her to become very sleepy, the strain of the past few days was gone.

It was strange, how one thing could completely change the way two people saw one another.

TS=-+=-+=-+TS

**One day ago…**

Sarah finished her shower and dressed for the day. She hesitated over the choice of clothing. What was she hiding from Jareth now? He'd seen everything. Pressed against her, skin to skin. She knew how he felt in her arms now, knew his kiss, knew how it felt to have his magic filling her, caressing her as intimately - more intimately - than anything could. She was strong now, and alone in her privacy. Empty of something that she hadn't thought she could lose.

And it hurt.

Was there any innocence left for her with Jareth? He knew her as the girl who was becoming a woman, then as the woman in need of a safe haven, and now…what was she?

She wasn't his lover, for he hadn't treated her with any particular gentleness when he woke, even if he had been draped over her like a living blanket.

She wasn't his beloved. That much she had always known. Maybe he cared about her, but he didn't love her. Not in the least.

She wasn't his - and the idea was almost laughable - queen. She wouldn't know how to be, and, besides, he had to marry for reasons of state.

She was his employee, and she still had to get to work.

She was his responsibility, and he had taken very good care of her yesterday, even to the point of giving himself a hangover.

She was the woman who woke in bed under him, even though nothing felt different. Not in that department.

So what _was_ she?

_Who_ was she?

Who was he now, to her?

Should she kiss him? Hug him? Thank him? Say nothing? What was left to do? Just make breakfast and ride the fenceline and feed the horses and clean the barn and practice roping on that damned practice calf?

She didn't think she'd had sex with him, but she'd asked him to take the memory, and she felt fine, so how would she know?

And if she did know, would that make things better or worse?

So many questions before coffee - it wasn't healthy.

Even though she managed to shove the questions aside for a while, when she went downstairs to see him in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee, her tongue spasmed and froze when she tried to talk. She managed something like a good morning, and he only nodded in return.

Everything was off. Breakfast, work, lunch, work, dinner, work, after dinner.

After dinner, they hadn't even gone to the porch, just went separate ways, him to his office, her to her room, and the knots worked deep into her back and for the first time in months, Sarah had cried herself to sleep, the uncertainty of everything breaking her heart in ways that she hadn't dreamed.

Knowing something was supposed to make things better, not worse - wasn't it?

TS=-+=-+=-+

The truck pulled up in front of the house. Sarah got out, walked up onto the porch, and looked up at the sky, a black velvet expanse scattered with diamond stars. She heard Jareths' door close and looked over at him. She couldn't see his eyes from the shadow under the brim, and, as he walked up the steps, remembered the first day here at the ranch. Had it only been three weeks? She'd gotten there in late May, and it was now a little after the middle of June. She'd fainted and he'd caught her, bodies pressed together in a rescue pose.

Two days ago, he had gathered her into his arms and their bodies had reclined together in a lover's pose.

Tonight, they had danced together - not a waltz in sight - and people had thought them lovers. She knew, as he had, that they were so much less than that. And so much more.

Jareth looked up at her as he put his boot on the top step. His eyes caught hers.

"What is it?" he asked, voice quiet in the late night.

Sarah shook her head, then said, "Feels familiar." She knew he'd understand the reference.

His eyes flicked over her features as he nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Another beginning," she added, still relaxed from the evening out, from the release of pressure between them. "Sort of."

He nodded slowly. "Apt," he murmured. "Beginning again in the middle seems to be a specialty of yours."

Sarah tipped her head to the side. "I know something else about that question you asked me a few days ago." She leaned against the porch rail. He came up to stand beside her. "I was hoping to find some of the old magic I longed for as a child in theatre, the way my mother had. The pretending, the make-up, the costumes, the fancy speech…in the sunlight, everything seems cheap and tawdry, but when the night falls and the lights go out…" she took a breath and let it go. "I tasted magic once, and I needed to feel it again, to feel something beyond the ordinary, just for a little while."

"And what you found was anything but magical," he murmured in reply.

"I found disappointment and work and endless tries without success. I found hopelessness and pain and humiliation and I learned very well how to run." She turned to face him, eyes soft grey glimmers in shadow. "Then I came here and remembered how to stand still, to face up to reality in whatever form it took.

"I won't stay, Jareth," she said softly, "but I'm not going to run, either. Whatever happens, whatever else I find here, I won't run."

"I would not ask you to stay," Jareth acknowledged her honesty with his own. "Just as I would not ask you to leave. For you, Sarah, as for no other, my home is yours for as long as you need it."

"You knew when I first came here that I wouldn't stay?"

"Yes." He paused. "It's been a night of music, but do you think you could stand one more song?"

"If you're singing it," she nodded.

"Perhaps only part of it, tonight." He was silent for a moment, then began to sing, his voice soft and sad, as somehow fit the night of laughter best.

"When they begin the overture

They start to end the show

When you said 'I'll never leave you'

Then I knew that you would go

The sound of all our laughter

Is now echoed in a sigh

And the first time that we said hello

Began our last goodbye."

"So does telling you I'll leave mean we'll meet again?" she asked, voice somewhere between amusement and acceptance.

"I am one of the mysteries of the universe, Sarah, but even I do not know the answer to that particular question. There are some things that simply must be as they will be."

"I never took you for a fatalist," she returned, a bit surprised at his easy acceptance of a thing called fate.

"A bit, sometimes. More often a stoic." He gave her a long, enigmatic look, his eyes filled with age and a tenderness that she didn't understand in the moment. Perhaps she never would. "But never blind to my own nature or the nature of others."

A long silence fell between them.

"Am I so obvious to you?" Sarah asked, voice soft as she looked down at the grass, grey in the night.

"Obvious is the wrong word. You are very young, Sarah, compared to me. I have travelled a very long path before reaching this place in my life. I am not old, not by the standards of the Fae, but neither am I young or untried. I am a king, which allows me even less room for self-deception, and a magic user of no mean abilities, which allows for none." He had all of her attention now. "If I understand your nature better at times than you do, it is simply because I have lived a moment like it, and I see in you something…familiar. Perhaps it is your spirit, or your willingness even now to open up to one who knew you so long ago… Whatever it is, I cannot regret it, any more than you could stay. I would not stifle you, nor would I punish myself for what is beyond my control."

For a long minute, Sarah searched his face, for what, she wasn't sure. Finally, she said, "Thank you, Jareth." He raised an eyebrow in reply. "For understanding, even when it takes me a while to figure it out."

"You're welcome, Sarah," he replied.

They stood on the porch a few minutes longer, then murmured their goodnights and walked upstairs together, Sarah again comfortable with herself and with him.

He would never ask for more than she could give, would never demand from her what he could not return in kind, would never expect her gratitude to be other than it was.

Most likely, she knew, she would give him so much more.

But not this night.

TS=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+TS

**A/N 2:** For those who have reviewed, thank you. I try to answer to answer each review separately, but I've fallen a bit behind of late. I have read them and I do appreciate the feedback! Please let me know what you think of 12. We're still a long way from the end of the inspirational song, even with leaving a few lines & chorus repeats out, so resolution isn't going to be quick or neat, but hopefully it will start moving along again without the long, long pauses. Song above sung by Roger Whitaker, written by someone else - and I can't recall whom. It just seemed to fit. No, this is not a songfic. Really. Promise.


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